Bite and Burn
by Thornwriste
Summary: On hiatus. Considering repost of the entire story.
1. Prologue

**Bite and Burn**

**By LadyDeathStrike1**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or X-Men: Evolution. I do own the story idea, including the Shiindi and the Han-Mu, they do not actually exist in the world. I also own the idea of the organization CARE for the sole purpose of this story.

**Summary**: Several years ago an organization following the work of Adolph Hitler attempted to start another international genocide of races deemed inferior. The range of victims, however, stretched even further than the preceding hatred-fueled project. It stretched to certain groups of people such as the Shiindi people of Egypt and the Han-Mu of Japan. The second Holocaust, however, was cut short by agencies of the United States of America and those of Germany, Poland and even as far as Egypt and Afghanistan. All locations of concentration and death camps were located and shut down; the main leaders of the organization were arrested, though a few members are still missing.

Shortly after, a new phenomenon was brought to the attention of everyone in the world, mutants. Seventeen-year-old Atemu Tor from Cairo, Egypt, understands from his pre-teen years his own mutation, and goes to Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters in Bayville to understand himself, and his life-consuming goal: to find his best friend.

**Notes: **AU, X-Men:Evolution post-Apocalypse cross-over, shonen-ai (limited to kissing and touching, nothing beyond). Includes violence, situations involving homeless minors and prejudice.

**Pairings: **AtemuxYugi, mentions of BakuraxRyou and MarikxMalik. ScottJean, RemyRogue, KurtAmanda, AleX23, pairings later to come…

**Chapter One: Prologue**

_January 13, 1998_

_Area 5, location: Germany, _

The rain was merciless and needle-sharp as it pounded upon the shuffling crowd of miserable people. The group was enormous, a couple hundred at the very least. Every one of them from the oldest man to the tiniest infant was blue-lipped from cold, shivering and garbed in clothes that had seen better months. Guards hurried them along the road of sharp rocks and gravel with their guns, their usually crisp uniforms drenched and their eyes squinted against the rain. The Nazi emblem was emblazoned on their fronts, their guns clicking slightly at their hips, their boots crunching gravel.

Looming ahead of the party was a building that looked very much like a concrete fortress. Looming square towers stood like somber sentinels, flanking the main block of concrete building. A strong barred gate was the only entrance into the building; the rest was surrounded by high fences lined with barbed wire.

The closer the group moved towards the prison, the louder the women sobbed and the heavier the men sighed. Little babies began to cry, and children started to shake so badly they could hardly walk. One man fell to his knees, but a guard quickly struck across the back of the head with the end of his rifle, shouting at the poor man in German.

The group finally reached the gates. One guard with a medal pinned to his front as well as a black umbrella spoke rapidly into a walkie-talkie, bending over it to shield it from the rain. The gates groaned, and then the slid slowly, almost mockingly so, to the side. Despite the sudden chill that had rippled through the colony of victims, the guards began to shout and push men, women and children into the camps. There was a large group of inspectors standing at the gates, and one by one they sorted through the group. Some were directed with force into the prison while others were led down another gravel road to where there was a giant wagon to transport other prisoners to Area 7.

Women began to scream when their children were forcefully torn away from their arms, the pounding of the rain magnifying the sound ten fold. All at once more women were screaming and men were shouting both in words and incoherently as they gripped their wives and children desperately. Soon a few stray gunshots sounded and the blood of desperate, struggling women and men stained the gray gravel road black. The Nazi guards were shouting to each other, the inspectors flanked by guards for protection as they painstakingly continued their inspection and sorting.

In the middle of it all, two little boys huddled amidst the tall bodies around them. One was roughly ten-years-old, the smaller one not much younger. They had no mother clutching them to her breast or any father holding them tight. They only had each other. They were strikingly similar, despite the slight difference in height. Both had a shock of spiked raven hair outlined with red, though the taller boy's outline was more of a harsh crimson while the smaller one had a magenta color, and jagged blonde bands hung over their foreheads and framed their faces. The taller one had sharp eyes of crimson while the boy he was holding so tightly was wide-eyed with violet irises.

"Yami, I'm scared." The smaller one whimpered, burying his face in his friend's jacket front. The taller one, Yami, held his companion closer.

"It's ok, aibou, we'll get out of this. You'll see, Yugi." Yami said, sounding surer than he felt. He eyed the guards around them carefully, moving both of them deeper and deeper into the crowd.

"Yami, I'm scared." The little boy, Yugi, tugged urgently on Yami's sleeve. "You won't leave me, will you?"

"No, I won't." Yami said stubbornly, looking Yugi in the eye. "I won't." He repeated. Yugi nodded shakily, his small hand gripping Yami's. Fate, however, had other plans.

One guard squinted through the rain and saw the two huddled boys. Not bothering to direct them to the inspectors in the melee the people were causing, he called for another guard to help him. Yami gripped Yugi so close to himself it was hard to tell when one boy ended and the other began. The guard grabbed them both by their collars, one in each hand, and dragged them to the inspectors.

A clean shaven man with glasses hurriedly checked over the boys, eyeing the screaming crowd. Roughly he turned Yugi's face and checked Yami's eyes. He spoke rapidly to two guards, who each took one of the boys, hauling them over their shoulders. Taken by surprise, Yami lost his hold on his best friend, only managing to grip Yugi's fingers desperately. Yugi screamed, struggling vainly against the stronger guard.

"Yami! Yami!" Yugi cried, reaching out to his only companion. Yami kicked, bit, punched, but it was futile. The guard holding him, struck him on the back of the head.

"Aibou…" Yami groaned, as the guard hauled him towards the wagon. Yugi was still screaming even after he was taken behind the bars.

"Atemu!" Yugi finally called out desperately. Yami, or rather Atemu, finally snapped awake. In one last attempt, Atemu reached out towards the retreating figure of his only friend. The dull pounding ache in his head rose to a crescendo, drowning his thoughts, all of them focused on one person.

"Aibou."

It had happened in a mere moment. Women screamed louder as black tongues of flame exploded near the gates to Area 5, crawling and licking at the wires. Guards scrambled, shouting and waving at their uniforms frantically, trying to bat away the flames that miraculously stayed lit in the rain. The fire grew higher and higher, rearing like a black, intangible beast ready to strike.

The guard finally struck Atemu on the back of the head again, the boy collapsed, and the flames instantly vanished, leaving no trace. Little Yugi sobbed quietly as he watched his friend fall to the ground before being thrown on the wagon like a rag doll.

_December 17, 2001_

_Area 7_

Life before hell was unconceivable. Atemu Tor could vaguely recall warm arms, sunshine and a set of sparkling amethyst eyes before all the darkness, the cold water burning skin off his face and even before the screaming strain his muscles suffered day after day of labor. Those memories were like a dream, or rather, a dream within a dream. A small daydream smothered and strangled to the ground by an everlasting nightmare. The days of strangers plunging his face into cold water, questioning him for answers he did not know, those days of ash-ridden air, the stench of burning corpse flesh blocking out anything fresh, were all that he could distinctly remember. Those days, those moonless nights, were all he knew.

That was the reason why he was so confused when all the victims of Area 7 sat out in the courtyard, outside of the cells, and American soldiers were marching towards the prison.

Numbly, the people watched as the U.S soldiers marched into the prison. Some of the prisoners were whispering that they had seen the Boss, the head of Area 7, led away in a large van, handcuffed. Not knowing what to do, and not really caring, most of the people there sat on the cold ground, snow falling lightly. One U.S officer stood on a small platform with a megaphone, and he began to speak in English.

"You have been liberated. Your time of horror and imprisonment is over, you will be escorted to one of our CARE centers where our agents will do their very best to help you in any way possible, both in readjusting to the lives you were taken from as well as settling into new ones." The officer was met with silence. One frail, wispy-haired woman sitting closest to the platform stood shakily and tugged gently, like a child, on the officer's pant leg. His hardened eyes behind his glasses softened at the sight of the once beautiful woman reduced to a shadow of her former self.

"I-Is it over, mister?" She spoke in broken English, her dark eyes shining with hope. Unable to form words, the officer nodded jerkily. The woman stood frozen before suddenly raising her hands and head heavenwards. She shouted something in her own tongue before suddenly collapsing in a crumpled heap. Paramedics rushed to her, but Atemu knew from everything around him that she was dead.

One by one people began to stand to their feet, supporting each other. Atemu wrapped his arms around himself, shakily getting to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young American soldier standing nearby; looking for the entire world like an awkward teenager just turned man. Atemu turned to him, and the blonde soldier's attention was immediately on him. The soldier was perhaps only a few years older than himself.

"Sir, is it really over?" Atemu asked in little English he knew. The soldier seemed to sense this because he only nodded with a small smile. Atemu could feel something break inside, and he began to shake. He felt cold, scared and, above all, hopeful. He looked to the sky from which snow was falling gently. A pair of amethyst eyes flashed in his mind's eye again, and they seemed to banish the tortured thoughts of the past years to darker corners of his mind. He felt like he had woken up from a deep sleep, the nightmare had lost its hold. He looked down at his callused and blistered hands.

"What year is it?" Atemu asked the soldier. The young man was hesitant to answer for fear of the language barrier.

"2001." The young man replied. Atemu bit back a gasp. The dark days had been so long he had forgotten to count the days. Three years had passed. The eyes flashed in his mind again. A name was swimming in his head, but it was like trying to catch smoke.

"H-Hey you dropped this." The soldier said hastily. Atemu frowned staring at the ragged piece of paper in the soldier's hand for he did not recognize it. Taking it, he bit back a cry at the face in the picture.

It was…it was…that name…Yu- no, wait…He strained to remember. Amethyst eyes…wide eyes…hair like his…

"_Atemu!"_ A little boy's voice screamed in his head. Atemu instantly recognized the voice at the same instant he remembered.

"Aibou!" He cried, clutching the small torn photograph of a smiling boy, his own picture self holding the purple-eyed boy.

"Aye-boo?" The soldier asked bewilderedly. Atemu, seized by a sudden panic, clutching the small Polaroid picture, looked around wildly.

"Aibou? Aibou?" He called. His knees felt weak, something was burning in his throat so much that he nearly gagged. Then the memory wormed its way into his mind again, the gates…the wagon…

The _fire._

"Are you alright?" The soldier managed gasp out before Atemu suddenly bolted for the fence, ignoring the barbed wire. He climbed the fence, unaware the group of soldiers shouting for him to calm down, that he didn't _need _to escape, that he was free.

Atemu climbed to the very top of the fence, his hands and forearms bleeding from the slashes the barbed gouged into his naturally bronze skin. He poked his head above the fence and glared at the expanse of ground laden with snow. The land that did not forfeit any sign of his partner.

"Aibou! Where are you, aibou?" He called in Egyptian save for that one treasured Japanese word. "I'm going to find you, aibou! I will, I promise! Do you hear me! I promise, I'm going to find you, aibou!" He screamed; his words were indiscernible to the soldiers. They could only watch with halting caution as the bleeding teenager jumped from the fence and collapsed on the ground, which was covered in a fine layer of snow.

"I'm going to find you. I'm going to find you, aibou." He sobbed into his bloody hands. "Find you, aibou. Aibou." He shuddered violently. The young blonde soldier knelt beside him and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders.

Atemu would later learn the soldier's name was Gerard Fieldstone, and he would be one of his greatest companions in the years to come.

**To Be Continued…**

Note: I dunno if I'll continue this. The idea was bugging me and I had to write it. I might just update it later for fun. Tell me what you think. And if you have any information about what happened at the Holocaust (I'm not that educated) please feel free to e-mail me about any corrections or just stuff. Either way I might just end up deleting this story cause I have no time (bangs head).

This is also a rough draft so…if it's weird I'm sorry.

If you read you must review…please?

Thank you.


	2. Seeker

**Note: **Beware the suckage of this here next chapter.

**Bite and Burn**

**By LadyDeathStrike1**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dell and Sony, and I am only using them as mention in this chapter. **

**Chapter Two: The Seeker**

_October 24, 2006_

_Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters_

_Bayville_

Professor Charles Xavier wheeled down one of the many hallways in his highly advanced wheelchair, his expression calm. He was a clean, well-dressed bald man who radiated an air of calm and benign. Despite his being a cripple, he held the respect of all the students and staff in his institution, only partially because of his mutation.

Professor Xavier was a human classified as a mutant, a human who held the mutant gene, or X-Gene, in his DNA. Humans with the X-Gene were known to develop characteristics during their pubescent period, though cases existed of premature awakening or powers staying dormant years longer than expected, that differed greatly with those of normal human beings. These characteristics included things such as wings, skin similar to that of a lizard or, in most cases, supernatural powers. Some claimed mutants to be the next link in the evolutionary chains, while others believed mutants to be a threat to humanity. Either way, the age of mutants was an era of great change.

Unfortunately, humans never responded to change very well. After a recent world-wide incident involving a thousands-of-years-old mutant going by the name Apocalypse (who had been trying to use his advanced technology and mutation to change all the humans of the world into mutants), the government had been apprehensive in a way to deal with mutants, though it was, however, a positive difference from only a few months ago when mutants had been feared and despised everywhere, openly ridiculed and scorned. Of course, they were still feared, but they held the respect of many individuals as well. Thanks to the most educated students of the Xavier Institute, the X-Men, mutants around the world could breathe easier for the time being.

"Charles, are you ready?" A tall, beautiful African woman with snow-white hair asked as she stepped out from the lounge.

"Yes Ororo, I assume Scott and Jean are ready to greet the new student?"

"Yes, as well as Kitty, Kurt and Rogue. They're all here to see him." She said with a smile. Xavier chuckled.

"And the others?"

"Logan has the rest of them in a Danger Room session as of now." Ororo stated simply, her smile widening. Logan aka Wolverine was another teacher in the facility, though his tough demeanor and violent reputation placed him as the best teacher for what were called Danger Room Sessions. Deep inside the facility there was a room called the Danger Room, a chamber for battle simulation as well as actual predicaments such as facing a barrage of lasers or walking across a narrow cliff face. The session itself was known to be extremely demanding, but with Logan at the controls…well, students were usually lucky to escape with a bad bruising.

Xavier and Ororo made their way to the entrance hall (taking the elevator to avoid the stairs). The institute itself was more of a grand mansion with well-furnished rooms, only with the added asset of classrooms.

Six people were already waiting near the doorways in the entrance hall, five of them were students. There were two boys, one was a tall and well-built young man with brown hair and an interesting pair of ruby shades, while the other was a bit harder to recognize. The second teenager was a bit younger than the shaded one, but he was certainly the odder of the two. His body was covered in a thin layer of blue fur, and a blue devil-like tail protruded from his rear. His ears were pointed, his eyes were white and he had two toes and three fingers. He was conversing cheekily with a brunette girl with a bright smile, while off to the side two older girls were speaking. One was a pretty redhead, while the other was a practical polar opposite of the girl she was speaking with, dressed in clothes that covered nearly every bit of her skin (including gloves), and her style and makeup had a distinct gothic look to it. A short but burly man stood to the right, his dark hair messy and an unlit cigar hanging from his snarling lips.

"I'm glad you all were able to make it." Xavier said. The man resembling a small grizzly bear, Logan Howlett, grunted. "What about the Danger Room Session, Logan?"

"Hank's handlin' it. I wanted to see this kid myself."

"Who is the new student, Professor?" The brunette, Kitty Pride, asked cheerfully. The furry boy, Kurt Wagner, nodded with her.

"His name is Atemu Tor. He is from Egypt, but he is very familiar with all sorts of languages, so you won't have to worry about that. He is now a senior in high school, I believe." Ororo said, crossing her arms.

"Then his main reason for coming is because of his mutation?" Scott, the young man with shades, said coolly, holding Jean Grey, the redhead, a bit closer. It was common knowledge that the two were an official couple. Xavier smiled at his two oldest students.

"Yes I believe so. Though, according to a letter he sent me, he needs some help with an issue of great importance as well."

"What kind of issue?" Logan said gruffly, chewing on his unlit cigar. Xavier shook his head.

"He said that he would rather tell us when he arrived. I believe a friend of his is dropping him off here." Xavier said. "There is one other important thing that needs to be known."

"What is it Professor?" Jean asked. Xavier steepled his fingers, his face adopting a solemn look.

"Atemu is a victim of the Second Holocaust attempt five years ago." He said, receiving collective gasps from the group, save for Logan who compromised by nearly biting off the end of his cigar.

"He's…how terrible…" Was all Ororo could manage through her fingers.

"Quite right, thus, we must be cautious when certain topics come up in conversation. I believe it is understandable without explanation that we should not question him. Scott, Jean, I'll be asking to you convey that fact to the other students; we don't need to cause Mr. Tor any unnecessary discomfort."

"Sure thing, Professor." Scott said with a nod. At that moment, the sound of the gate intercom interrupted the conversation.

"_Please state your name._" The recording on the security system echoed through the small entrance hall speakers.

"Atemu Tor, I am a new student." A rich, sultry voice lacking any distinct accent said. Xavier wheeled over to the security control pad. Pressing a button that connected to the intercom he spoke into the machine.

"Welcome to Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, Mr. Tor, please proceed." A few moments later everyone in the entrance hall could hear a jeep driving slowly along the driveway loop and stopping in front of the entrance to the mansion. Xavier wheeled himself out the doors, his students and colleagues following suit. Kitty let out a small giggle at the sight of the new student, a sound that made Kurt frown slightly.

Atemu Tor was leaning across the closed door of a Lincoln green jeep, speaking rapidly in what seemed to be Japanese to a white-haired teenager at the wheel of the car. He had surprisingly light luggage consisting of only two duffel bags and a small suitcase. He looked up at the sight of his teacher (and provider for the following school year), revealing stunning crimson eyes.

Atemu was rather short for his age, but what he lacked in vertical prowess he made up with his fashion statement and commanding air. Despite his taste for tight leather shirts, pants, studded buckles and collars and various gold and silver bracelets (as well as his outrageous hair-do), something about the way he held himself made it difficult to label the Egyptian as "goth" or "punk". His bronze skin added to the shine in his oddly-colored eyes, a small half-smirk-half-smile playing on his lips. Rogue, the covered girl's, eyebrows shot up at his style of clothing, clearly liking what she saw.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Tor, welcome to the institute." Xavier stated warmly, his students murmuring other salutations as well. A grin spread across Atemu's face, and he shifted his hold on his duffel bags. Ascending the stairs to the main doors, he managed a nod towards Xavier.

"Thank you, Professor Xavier. I'm very pleased to be here." He said; his rich baritone voice sending Kitty into a fit of giggles again, with Rogue grinning behind her had as well. Kurt couldn't help but smile a little as well. Who knew such a deep, such a _manly_ voice could come from a guy who looked, from behind at the very least, like a young teenager from the wrong side of the tracks.

"I would like you to meet my dear friend, Ryou Bakura." Atemu said, motioning to the white-haired young man who was now running up the stairs.

"Hello!" Ryou said a little breathlessly, his doe-brown eyes sparkling.

"Hello, Mr. Bakura. Thank you for bringing Mr. Tor here."

"Please call me Ryou, Professor." Ryou said quickly, a light blush gracing his pale features. "And I'm sure Tor-sama over here would prefer if you called him Atemu." Ryou joked lightly.

"Well, thank you again, Ryou." Xavier said with a smile.

"You need help with that?" Logan growled, motioning to the luggage Atemu had dragged up the stairs. Atemu immediately hefted the two bags.

"Just my suitcase, if that's alright, Mr.—"

"Logan, just Logan. I don't need any 'mister' or 'sama' crap. Just Logan or sir will do." Logan growled, his cigar bouncing.

"Yes, sir." Atemu amended, noticing the joking wink Kitty sent his way. He smirked back.

"Follow me, I'll show you to your room." Logan said, his cigar dancing a little jig. He picked up the suitcase with ease, walking at a steady pace to give Atemu some time to catch up.

"Scott, Jean, do you think you could find Alex Masters? Please introduce him to Atemu, seeing as how he is our new student's roommate."

"Sure, we'll get him." Jean said before leaving with Scott at her elbow. As they walked away Scott grumbled, "Why couldn't he room with _Roberto_ or something?"

"Oh relax, Scott, think of it as a way for Alex to meet new people." Jean chided. Scott snorted, still a bit bitter from the "loss" of his long lost little brother. At a young age, both Scott and Alex had been victims of a tragic plane crash that had killed their parents. While they parachuted down, Scott's parachute had caught fire and the two had been separated, both brothers believing the other was dead. About ten years later, Xavier had found Scott's little brother living with the Masters in Hawaii. It took a little more than a year before Alex joined his older brother at the institute.

"Oh he's met enough people! He's been spending way too much time with that Laura girl for my liking!"

"Don't say that in front of her, Logan might shred you." Jean scolded gently, smiling at the thought.

Ryou shuffled slightly before turning to Xavier.

"Could I have a word with you, Professor?" Ryou said quietly, looking meaningfully at Kitty, Rogue and Kurt. "And Ms—"

"Munroe, or just Ororo." Ororo said kindly, nodding with her head to three teenagers who left immediately. Rather, Kitty and Rogue walked away while Kurt disappeared in a cloud of sulfur smoke. Ryou stared after the blue mutant.

"Was he—"

"Blue and furry? Why yes, Ryou, and he has a tail as well." Xavier chuckled at the expression on Ryou's face. "I'm surprised your friend Atemu didn't notice."

"I'm sure he did. He's really into weird stuff, though, so that shouldn't be a problem." Ryou laughed.

"So what is it that you wanted to tell us?" Ororo said after the other two had stopped chuckling. Ryou suddenly seemed very interested in the cement beneath their feet.

"You know that Atemu needs your help with something, right?" When the other two nodded, Ryou continued. "He will probably tell you this later, but I have to make this clear. He knows someone very important to him who was also a victim of the Second Holocaust," Ryou noted the frown that suddenly creased Ororo's brow, "and Atemu has been trying to find him for five years. He hasn't had any luck, but he hopes that, with your connections, you could help him on his search."

"Do you know what relation binds Atemu and his, erm, friend?" Xavier asked suddenly. Ryou shook his head.

"Only that whoever he's looking for is a boy, or rather a teenager now, and is very important to Atemu. So important that Atemu has spent the better of five years on his search and excelling in his studies only to learn new ways of finding this boy." Ryou said sadly.

"What is the boy's name?" Ororo asked. Ryou shook his head, his white locks swaying.

"I'm not supposed to say. He will tell you the details himself when the time comes." Ryou said. "There's something you need to know. Obviously this search is very personal. But I have to warn you, Atemu, especially in regards to this teenager, can be a bit extreme in his search."

"As in, losing touch with the world around him?" Xavier asked. Ryou nodded.

"Yes, but further. This search has consumed him, taking over everything he knows. He only has a vague idea on what he wants for his own future, that is how determined he is. With that and the trauma he's faced in Germany, I'm afraid he can be a bit unstable. He might have rages, or show obsessive-compulsive symptoms. Sometimes, my friends and his remaining family members had to force him to stay at the mental hospital for a few days to treat his depression. He's going to need a lot of help, but not so much that it slaps him in the face." Ryou said slowly, as if every word hurt him when it left his lips. Both Ororo and Xavier nodded in understanding.

"Alright, we'll do our best. You needn't worry, Ryou, we have dealt with unstable mutants before." Ororo assured with a brief pat on the white-haired teenager's shoulder.

"How has Atemu reacted to his mutation?" Xavier asked. Ryou let a small smile play on his lips.

"He's by no means scared of it, if that's what you mean." Ryou said, a small chuckle escaping him, though something sad still lingered in his kind eyes. "Thank you, and please don't hesitate to call me if there are problems. Atemu has my number." Ryou finally said, bowing.

"Of course, thank you, Mr. Bakura."

"Sayonara, Professor Xavier, Ms. Munroe." Ryou said with another bow, his Japanese accent stumbling slightly over the proper address. He quickly climbed back into the jeep and drove away.

Xavier and Ororo watched as Ryou Bakura drove away before silently entering the mansion, each hoping in their hearts they had what it took to keep Atemu in line without losing their new student.

**Alex/Atemu's room**

Kurt bamfed in front of the new student's room with Alex in tow. He knocked on the door.

"I think you're going to have a great time, Alex, vith the new student. He seems like a very interesting person." Kurt said, his tail twitching with excitement. The younger blonde teenager smiled at Kurt's actions.

"I hope you're right. He didn't seem like a jerk or anything did he?"

"I resent that." A baritone voice chuckled. Both Alex and Kurt looked up to see Atemu leaning on the doorframe, for all the world practically holding up a sign with the label YOU MAY DROOL NOW, with the way his pants were hugging his hips just the right way, and how his shirt was riding up slightly without his notice, giving hint to well-toned abs.

"My name is Alex Masters, I'll be your roommate for the remainder of your stay." Alex joked, recovering first, and holding out a hand, using the other to salute comically. Atemu chuckled again and shook Alex's hand.

"A pleasure, Alex Masters, I'm Atemu Tor. I hope you don't mind if I already set up my stuff." The Egyptian said while flashing pearly whites and opening the door wider for Kurt and Alex to enter. He paused a bit when he saw Kurt but recovered by flashing another smile at the German mutant.

Alex gasped a little when he saw Atemu's half of the room. The room itself was situated in a sort of self-explanatory way with two beds on opposite sides of the room as well as separate desks.

Alex's side, of course, was still rather bare seeing as how he had not moved his things as of yet. Atemu's books, paper, pencils and stationary were already neatly organized at his table with a Dell laptop already set up with a Sony sound system, wireless adapter and web cam. His bed was covered with silk sheets and tasseled pillows, probably from his home in Egypt, and empty bags were stuffed under the bed, the clothes packed away in the drawers. His wardrobe was full of jackets and various accessories ranging from collars to bracelets littered the top of the clothes drawers. Despite the organization of the rest of his side of the room, something like a blitzkrieg of newspapers and Internet articles had attacked the wall above Atemu's bed and desk, lined with scotch tape. Various headlines blared in large black letters and highly defined photos of burning buildings, snow-covered prisons and the tear-streaked faces of men, women and children. A few articles displayed images of twisted bodies and corpses blue with cold. Highlighters of all colors outlined lines upon lines of the many articles, commentaries and editorials. Sharpies had drawn arrows to certain sentences and paragraphs with notes scribbled in the margins until you could barely see through the black. Atemu stood off to the side, looking at his things idly, almost in an embarrassed way.

"Wow, you've been busy." Kurt commented. Atemu smiled at the blue mutant for a bit before his elegant brows dipped down in a delicate frown.

"I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing your name." Atemu said, eyes darting to Kurt's tail.

"My name is Kurt, Kurt Vagner. _Guten tag, _Atemu." Kurt said kindly, extended a three-fingered somewhat gingerly, eyeing Atemu for any sort of surprised reaction. Something dark flitted in Atemu's crimson eyes for less than a second before the bangled Egyptian grasped Kurt's odd hand warmly and without flinching.

"Good day to you as well, Mr. Vagner." Atemu said, smiling. He moved to his bed where he started smoothing out creases. "If you don't mind me asking, what are your mutations?" Atemu was answered by a odd sound, like that of a thousand candles being blown out at the same time, and Kurt suddenly appeared in front of him in a cloud of black smoke, sulfur heavy in the air.

"I can teleport." Kurt said smugly. Atemu's eyes widened.

"Gods, that's awesome!" Atemu exclaimed, unexpectedly ecstatic. "So you can, in a way, go anywhere you want?"

"As long as I can see where I'm going, sure." Kurt said, smiling despite himself. Atemu's hard crimson eyes sparkled.

"Sugoi…" He whispered, a little Japanese seeping out of his mouth. "And what is yours?" He asked, turning to Alex. Said blonde smiled slightly before allowing a hazy reddish glow to hover around his hands.

"I can fire power blasts from my hands, kind of like my brother Scott, only his come from his eyes." He said, allowing the glow to fade. Atemu nodded, his eyes widening.

"This place is amazing…" He mumbled. Kurt laughed lightly. Grinning Alex waved a hand at the Egyptian.

"What are your powers?" He asked. Atemu's mood suddenly dimmed, the smile melting off his face. Even his eyes had darkened.

"I'm not quite sure, it's a bit complicated." He said, looking away. Both Kurt and Alex had enough sense to know that topic was closed. Alex checked his wristwatch before jumping slightly.

"Oh crap I promised Scooter I'd meet him five minutes ago outside. Sorry to cut this short guys, but I gotta go!" He said hastily, smiling apologetically. He quickly shook Atemu's hand.

"It was great to meet you Atemu, I'll be seeing more of you later!" The Hawaiian boy said before running out of the room and down the hallway. Idly, Kurt read a highlighted headline on one of the articles above Atemu's bed: **Flash Blizzard hits areas known to house Second Holocaust bases. **

"Do you need something?" Atemu asked while he sorted through papers at his new desk. It did not go unnoticed by Kurt how the Egyptian's voice suddenly sounded hollow. He flicked his tail before looking at the ground.

"I vas just vondering…if maybe you vere, um, bothered by my—"

"Looks? I must admit, Kurt, I've never seen anyone like you. But if you've seen all the shit I have—" Atemu didn't see Kurt wince at the word, "you would expect anything. Honestly, you're the same person through and through, tail or no tail." Atemu assured, looking back at Kurt briefly. Comforted as he was, Kurt felt a small pang of insecurity at Atemu's still cold voice.

"Forgive me, Kurt, but I'm afraid I'm a bit preoccupied right now with my work. Could I please be alone?" Atemu said, his voice still monotonous, not turning to look at Kurt.

"Sure thing, Atemu, I'll see you later." Kurt said hastily before disappearing. Atemu waited a few minutes before hurrying to close the door. Making sure no one was in the hallway, Atemu locked the door and sat on his bed heavily. Choking softly deep in his throat, Atemu's hands found their way into tangled locks as he lowered his head, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Where are you?" He hissed to no one.

**To Be Continued…**

Author's Note: It might be a bit late for this, but this fan fiction will also include main characters (for now only Yugi and Atemu but others may experience minor cases of this) undergoing emotional and mental self-quests. From this chapter you can vaguely tell that Atemu has a certain level of instability. My warning is thus: Atemu and Yugi may act emotionally and mentally unstable, but both their cases will improve. Don't worry, no one will end up in a cell with padded walls, and there will be no hallucinations, simply emotional breakdowns and maybe, in Atemu's case, violent rages.

Thank you!


	3. Ashes

…I love you people.

**Bite and Burn**

**By LadyDeathStrike1**

**Note: I do own Jue-Hee Holan and Redemption**

**Chapter Three: Ashes**

Alex immediately knew something was wrong.

The door to Atemu and his room was locked, and no matter how many times the young surfer hammered on it, his roommate would not respond. It had only been a few hours since he left the institute, Scott and he had gone with Jean in tow to see the horror movie by writer and director Jue-Hee Holan _Redemption_ (the ending brought tears to Alex's eyes, though he would never admit it to Scott). It was about 8 o'clock in the evening and the residents of the institute were already heading up to their rooms for dinner. It was Friday evening so many students went to the rec room to chill or to each other's rooms. Atemu had not been present at the meal, and that worried Alex.

"Hey, Atemu? Could you open the door? I need to get something!" Alex said rather loudly, knocking persistently. When the Egyptian didn't answer, Alex began hammering on the door with fervor.

"Atemu please open the door!" Alex said, nearly shouting, earning a look from a passing Rogue.

"What's goin' on?" Rogue said a little snappishly, marking the vampire book in her hand. Alex shrugged sheepishly.

"Sorry, but my roommate won't open the door! I've been here like fifteen minutes straight!" Alex said exasperatedly.

"Well, maybe he just needs some time alone. Ah know ah need mah space, and when people bug meh—"

"Well, yeah, but Rogue you don't lock people out of their own rooms, do you? I mean, seriously, I'm starting to worry—" Alex stressed, waving his hands in emphasis. Rogue bit her lip uncertainly.

"You only just met him, for all yah know this is normal for him." She said slowly. Alex snorted.

"If this is normal I don't want to see what's—"

"Alex?" Both Rogue and Alex simultaneously jumped and turned to face Atemu, who was standing in the doorway. Alex noted instantly that Atemu's hair was ruffled, as if he had run his hands through it many times, and his clothes, which were as crisp as leather can get upon arrival, were wrinkled. Though it was far from late, obvious lack of sleep and jet lag made themselves known in the form of faint shadows under Atemu's originally vibrant crimson eyes, which were now a dull shade of rust. His mouth was set in a grim line.

"Oh, Atemu, uh, hey." Alex said quickly, at a loss for words.

"Hello, Atemu." Rogue interjected, effectively saving Alex, and the surfer immediately took the hint.

"Oh Atemu, this is Rogue, she's another student here. Rogue, this is Atemu, my roommate." He said quickly. Atemu's mouth pricked at the corners in a less-than-half-hearted attempt at a smile. Rogue shook his outstretched hand. She gasped suddenly when a stinging sensation hit her palm, even through her glove. She pulled back a little too quickly, and the barely-there smile disappeared.

"It is a pleasure, Rogue." Atemu said in a deadpan voice. A moment of awkwardness befell the three with Rogue still staring at her hand, confusion written all over her face. Atemu suddenly hurried past the two. "I have to go." He muttered quickly before practically sprinting down the hallway. Alex turned bewilderedly to Rogue, who was now staring at the room.

"What was that about?" Alex demanded. Rogue only stared straight ahead.

"What the hell…?" Rogue mumbled before slowly making her way into the room, Alex followed and soon understood her worried expression.

Alex's side of the room was still as untouched as it had been when Atemu arrived. Atemu's half, however, was a mess. The laptop screen was flickering as an automatic search engine looked up articles on the Internet. The bed sheets were thrown back, the pillows on the ground. More articles than before, some with smeared ink, were destroyed by gloss notes and highlighted sections and hung up haphazardly with tape and even reinforcements. But that wasn't the only thing that caught their gaze.

What was most disturbing was what was on the walls between the desk, bed and drawers. Black handprints streaked the walls, hiding behind papers and clawing at the windows. As they drew closer to the black markings, a distinct smell of burning paint and wood hung in the air. Alex gasped sharply, as did Rogue.

The handprints were made of ash.

**Xavier's Office**

A knock awoke Xavier from his thoughts. His telepathy quickly scanned the visitor, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"Come in, Atemu." He said kindly, putting away his paperwork. A frazzled Atemu shakily walked into the office and sat gingerly in a chair; as if afraid it would explode. Xavier noted the way Atemu's eyes darted everywhere but at him.

"Is something wrong?" Xavier asked. Atemu suddenly looked his way, and Xavier winced mentally. The Egyptian's eyes were so dull that they were hard to look at. Something similar to a tormented beast lingered in those now garnet eyes.

"H-How did you know it was me?" Atemu said, a little breathlessly. Xavier forced a smile, though he was deeply concerned.

"I am a telepath, Atemu, I can detect my student's individual mental wave patterns."

"You can read my thoughts?" Atemu suddenly demanded, his fists clenching. Xavier held up his hands.

"There is no need to worry, Atemu, I assure you it is one of my most passionate morals not to use one's abilities to gain advantage over another. Unless you wish me to, or if there is a life-and-death situation, I will not enter your thoughts." Xavier said calmly. Atemu calmed a bit, too, but his fists were still tight. A moment of silence passed before Atemu licked his dry lips and spoke.

"As you know, I also came to the institute for your help." Atemu said slowly. Xavier nodded, disregarding the brusqueness of Atemu's visit.

"Whatever it is, I only hope we can help you as much as we can."

"Thank you. I am sure you are aware of my…experiences. You should also know that many families and close relationships were separated cruelly at the camps."

"I know." Xavier said. He did not say anything about what Ryou had told him. There was no need for Atemu and Ryou to have a spat.

"Professor Xavier, I'm looking for someone, someone who is very, very close to me. I haven't seen him in so long. I'm eighteen now, I was ten when I last saw him. I haven't read his file in any of the CARE organization records. As a victim, I have open access to search for friends and family as the government military researches more on the Areas, and if there are any more to be liberated."

"Who is it that you're looking for?" Xavier asked. Atemu glanced up quickly before looking again at the floor. It was a long time before he spoke.

"His name is Yugi Mutou. He should be about seventeen-years-old, now. When we were separated, he was taken to Area 5." Atemu said quietly.

"How are you two related?" Xavier asked gently. Atemu's mouth formed a grim line.

"We look almost identical, but his family is from Japan while my heritage is in Egypt. We aren't related, at all, believe me I've checked a thousand times." Atemu said, his voice getting even quieter.

"If it isn't too bold to ask, how long have you known each other?" At this, Atemu snorted.

"We've known each other practically since diapers. I'm an only child, and so is he. I lost my mother, and my father was usually busy with things, so he left me in the care of one of his greatest companions, Sugoroku Mutou, most of the time. Yugi lost his parents so he lived with his grandfather. That's how I met Yugi." Atemu said, his eyes becoming distant. Xavier gave the teenager time to mull over his thoughts before asking another question.

"Again stop me if I'm being too bold, but may I ask why you are so determined—"

"Because he needs me!" Atemu suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lit up with ferocious light. Just as quickly as it had come, the fire was gone and Atemu was staring at the ground again. "Forgive me, I-I didn't mean to get emotional."

"It's quite alright. Would it be alright if I asked one last thing?" Xavier said gently, his telepathy detecting waves of unease and pain radiating from Atemu's form. He sent small amounts of calming mental projections, and Atemu's shoulders relaxed.

"Of course, Professor Xavier." Atemu said. Xavier clasped his hands in front of his face in his usual manner.

"How much does this search mean to you?" Xavier said slowly, Ryou's words ringing in his head. Atemu's eyes burned again, only this time they glowed with something akin to agony, and a fierce emotion Xavier couldn't quite place. He briefly touched the edges of Atemu's mind…protectiveness?

"This search, Professor, is my only means of finding Yugi, my best friend. I don't expect you to understand, Professor, only to know. Every person has that someone they need in life in order to face the next day. For some it's their mother or their father, for another it's their lover or their spouse. For me, it is Yugi. Yugi is the only person in this goddamn world who will get this close to my soul without getting burned. Every day that I don't find him is a failure. 365 failures in a year, I have suffered 1825 failures. As much as those failures rip me to pieces, reminding me I haven't found him, I still search. Yugi is the only one who matters." Atemu said, standing up and turning briskly away. Xavier only watched as his newest student left the office, closing the door gently.

Only a few minutes passed with Xavier mulling over these thoughts when Alex Masters and Rogue suddenly burst into the office.

"Professor!" Alex said rather loudly, his hair in disarray.

"What is it Alex, Rogue?" Xavier said concernedly, his mind detecting major vibes of panic from the two.

"It's Atemu! We were gone for a few hours, and we checked in his room and...man you have to see it for yourself!" Alex said hurriedly, Rogue nodding. Xavier held up his hands.

"Calm down, Alex. If you just visualize the image in your mind I'll be able to see it." Xavier said. Alex shook his head, so Rogue stepped in.

"I'll do it, Professor, Ah think Alex is a bit excited rahght now."

"Alright." Xavier said. He concentrated, and the image came to him clear as crystal. His eyes snapped open, his brow furrowing.

"We're going to have to speak to Atemu about his mutation, soon."

"What exactly—"

It was then that the smoke alarm suddenly screamed.

**To Be Continued…**

Honestly I was going to write more, but I hit a block in my creative streak. I need some cookies.

Thank you!

Byez


	4. From the Inside

Thanks to you all I am now drowning in cookie-goodness…I love you…

Again my cat has eaten all my plot-bunnies for this story and I can't purchase any more. I need more cookies and helpful plot turners. Bah!

Warning: Following chapter may contain major suckage

**Bite and Burn**

**By LadyDeathStrike1**

**Chapter Four: From the Inside**

It was always cold. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day it was bitterly, cruelly, deceptively cold. The crunch of snow, a sound that had once lit a glow of joy in his heart, had long since been reduced to the mundane routine of hunger, dirt, and the permanent stench of old, moldy clothes. So very cold, so ice-frosty it burned the skin, cheeks and linings of the lungs. Tears had long since been frozen to his cherubic cheeks, streams etched, like cold scars, on his face, leaking from his eyes. The cold made his skin so blue he was known as "the walking corpse" among the voices and faces in the dark abandoned underground subway stations. The cold was all he knew. To him, in the underground, it was cold all year round. He could not imagine a minute of any hour it not being so bitterly cold.

Years of malnutrition and lack of hygiene made him rather small for his seventeen years of age. He huddled close to one of the dirty tiled walls of the station, well away from the trash can fires the others had so happily crowded around. His thin, small body was curled upon itself, wrapped in a thick, old black hoodie. The jacket was barely suitable for shielding the elements, but it was enough for him. He eyes were wide with pools of amethyst staring aimlessly at one of the old metal signs on the walls. Deep black lines hung beneath his eyes, enough to look like bruises, and the icy-lines on his face were cracked and powder-white, like the first layer of snow every winter storm brought. His hands were covered with what used to be gray gloves, now nearly-black fingerless gloves. A shock of spiked raven hair lined with magenta and bolt-shaped blonde bangs was revealed for a brief second before he tugged his hood back over his head. His jeans were old and ragged with holes everywhere. His black Guess sneakers had long since given up trying to patch the splitting heals.

The others did not pay mind to the pale, blue-lipped boy. They all knew he was different, and something was dreadfully wrong with him. No matter how cold it became, no matter how far away he stayed from the trash can fires, he never suffered ailments of the cold. Never did he ever have a fever, a cough, or even a sniffle. None of his appendages had been frost bitten, and the only sign of the cold on him was the pale blue on his lips, cheeks and fingertips. He was simply cold, and that was that.

The teenager soon-to-be young man clutched a ragged piece of paper in his hand. It was a Polaroid picture of a boy that looked stunningly similar to him and about nine years younger. In Sharpie, a small heart had been scrawled in the corner of the photo. The boy's smile in the photo looked empty and fake, but the pale boy, Yugi Mutou, kissed it nevertheless and stuffed it in his jacket, right above his heart.

"Yami…" He whimpered before falling asleep.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It wasn't hot, that much Atemu could comprehend. It didn't burn like normal, orange and crimson fire. Of all things it did, it did not burn.

It _devoured_.

A pounding headache and madly churning stomach had forced Atemu into the nearest bathroom closest to Xavier's office. He immediately grabbed the sides of the sink and dry heaved into the porcelain basin.

The pulsating throb in his head only grew, the acidic burn of vomit lingering in the back of his throat. Next thing he knew, his head suddenly split open, and something was ripping his throat and scorching his voice box. The shrill scream of the fire alarm awoke him from his agony-induced reverie, and he realized the ripping in his throat had been from his own voice, screaming at the top of his lungs. That was not all.

The bathroom was filled with smoke, and black flames crawled, coiled and hissed on the tile floor. They were more mist than fire, and the heat was no longer a factor of temperature, but a living creature itself. The hot aura of the black misty-flames were clawing at Atemu's clothes, skin and hair, practically seething in desperation to find the source of his life. The flames around him did not flicker mindlessly, but they left everything they touched in ashes, each of their movements deliberate and calculating. He could almost hear them purring in his ears seductively, begging for the beat of his heart, his life, his blood.

"No!" Atemu choked as the flames crawled up his legs, setting his pant legs aflame. He moved to hastily bat them away, but shock stopped him. He realized only after gray smoke filled the room that he was the only thing that wasn't burning. The heat, while radiating from the flames, was buried inside his body. The flames weren't seeking blood, but heat. Power to fan their black mist tongues.

"Help." Atemu said numbly, sweat dripping down his brow and pooling on the porcelain sink. He glanced at the mirror, and he saw black ash spreading up his chin and neck—

"Atemu!" A panicked voice cried out, and, suddenly, the flames evaporated in thin air, as if they had never been there. He collapsed to his knees, his heart pounding madly, his face ablaze. He shut his eyes against the unbearable raise of temperature, it was so hot…

"Atemu!" Cool hands grabbed his face, and he realized he was lying on the floor. Alex's face was hovering above him, he had to squint to see it properly.

"A-Alex-san?" Atemu spoke groggily, everything was so hot, steamy and blurry, unaware that Japanese had slipped into his speech. He did have time to note if he had used the proper suffix for someone he had only just met when a wave of burning liquid metal seemed to flood his body. He instinctively curled in upon himself.

"Atemu!" Another voice joined Alex, Kurt's? "What's wrong vith him?" Kurt asked, panicked.

"I-I dunno! Get Hank, quickly!" Alex stammered. There was a small "bamf" and the smell of sulfur hung heavy in the air.

"So…hot." Was all Atemu could manage as another heat wave engulfed his body.

"What's hot? What are you talking about?" A third, female voice said worriedly. Atemu could hear shuffling. He managed to pry open his tear-filled eyes enough to see Alex's ashen face and Kitty Pryde hovering over the surfer's shoulder. There were three others present as well. One was Logan, he was evidently biting down hard on his cigar, and the other was Professor Xavier, his brow furrowed. The third was a girl at least three years his younger with extremely long brown hair and cat-green eyes. There was an odd sort of stand-offish expression on her face.

"Atemu, how are you feeling?" Xavier said, though it was clear Atemu, at the very least, was far from feeling alright. Atemu opened his mouth to reply, but Xavier's question ended up being answered by a scream as spires of agony drove into Atemu's temples. Logan cursed rather loudly, and Alex cried out in surprise. Amidst the pain, Atemu could tell the others were shuffling around for some reason, and someone had placed a hand on his brow before pulling back.

"Crap, he's burning up!" Kitty exclaimed.

"Holy fuck, he's not the only thing burning!" Logan snarled. Atemu's eyes fell closed as shadows bordered along his vision. Why was everyone dancing all of a sudden? A new voice joined the fray.

"H-Hey what the heck is going o—Oh my God! Help, Ms. Munroe! the bathroom's on fire!"

That last statement was the last thing Atemu heard before he faded into black. At least it wasn't hot anymore…

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Malik Ishtar was angry at the world at least ten times a day, or, at the very least, extraordinarily bitter. Here he was, away from the searing caress of the sometimes unfavorable, yet familiar Egyptian sun, and forced to live with a group of material-obsessed and utterly _boring_ mutant Americans. Well, most of them were from America anyway.

Malik, a rapidly growing sixteen-year-old, leaned back in his desk chair. He, unlike many of the mutants in Xavier's institute, had a room of his own. Due to his mutation, it was deemed unsafe to have anyone else spend time with him in the same room. After the last incident involving a nearly blinded student, Xavier thought it best that Malik be left on his own.

Brushing back his long, sandy-blonde hair, Malik placed microphones over his head to listen to a singer in Korea going by the name Song (a play on her real name "Sahang-Mi"). He was dressed in a tight lilac shirt and gray pants. He placed his boots on his desk, his golden bangles clinking as he began to pantomime the drum part of the song he was listening to. His computer beeped happily, telling him he had received a new e-mail. He leaned back, the front legs of the chair hitting the ground with a sharp "clack". A small grin spread on his face at the address of the sender.

"Sweet, that psycho is back." Malik said to no one. He clicked the e-mail and nearly laughed aloud at the e-mail. For at least a month now Malik had been receiving rather friendly, if somewhat disturbing, e-mails from a man (at least Malik _thought_ he was a man) who went by the alias Marik. Of course, this was because the sender had seen Malik's name first and it annoyed the Egyptian to no end that his mysterious correspondent was mocking him by playing with his own name.

_Malik, _

_You were right about the toaster, you aren't supposed to put live animals in it. Oh well, at least I won't have to worry about those damn squirrels anymore. I'd ask you how you are, but that would me I would have to listen to your problems, so I won't. Haha! You should've seen the look on my therapist's face when—Holy Ra there's fucking squirrel at my window! You bastard get back here!...Hahaha Mr. Bushy-tailed tree rat I AM FASTER THAN YOU! Ha ha don't give me those cute little eyes, mouse of Satan, I know you were trying to rescue that friend of yours that I stuffed in a trash can full of water! NOW YOU WILL JOIN HIM! Sorry Hell-Cat, but I've got business to attend to!_

_Marik_

_P.S: Hell-Cat is my new nickname for you. Sandy sounds too gay. _

Malik cackled at the sheer absurdness of the e-mail. Who in the world would monologue their ramblings to a poor squirrel in an e-mail? Did that incident even happen? Who knows, the idea of some man/woman (though his money's bet was on man) across the globe (or very close to the Institute) drowning squirrels and stuffing them into toaster ovens as well as microwave ovens. Malik snorted at the nickname the other had decided to call him. Figures, Marik seemed to have this obsession with coming up the perfect nickname for Malik. One week it was Pookie, another time it was Cocoa, and then Sandy. Marik must have gone through at least fifty nicknames. What Malik thought was odd was that none of these pseudonyms had nothing to do with Malik, almost as if they were terms of endearment. It didn't bother him too much, though, seeing as how his correspondent's sanity was already questionable. Malik's older sister, Ishizu Ishtar, had always warned Malik against online predators, and this Marik person fit every blatant description. For some reason he couldn't place, however, Malik felt drawn to Marik.

The fire alarm shrieked, and Malik barely looked up. He had been at this institute for a little less than a year, going to Bayville High just like the other students. Half of the students could produce fire or cause combustion in some way, so the alarm's cry of terror barely caused him to move. Honestly, he didn't understand it. All the other students were so jumpy and panicked whenever the fire alarm went off, you'd think they would have gotten used to it by now. Malik grew annoyed with the sound that someone had forgotten to turn off and typed a hurried e-mail.

_Marik, _

_You are a moron. I see you've been drowning squirrels again. Seriously, just get an exterminator! I g2g now, so I'll c u later!_

_Malik, _

_P.S: MY NAME IS MALIK FOR RA'S SAKE!_

After sending the e-mail, Malik snatched his keys off his desk and grabbed a jacket out of the mass of clothes at the foot of his bed. He needed a ride.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Ryou Bakura clutched his head as he stared at the mirror in his bathroom. His shirt was off, revealing his bare chest and torso. His hair tangled, his eyes shadowed.

"Why, why why?" Ryou mumbled brokenly, sobs lingering in the back of his throat. He heard it again, the whispering. They were back. Wicked words seeped from the cracks in between the tiles on the bathroom floor and spaces beneath the door. The porcelain in the tub creaked, the shower curtain rustling in a nonexistent breeze. The words were joined by a chorus of chants, nearly muted screams and whispers. Ryou covered his ears, whimpering.

"Don't look back…don't look away…look to the left you're alone…" He hummed to himself. "Don't be scared…don't be afraid…and you'll find your way home…"He was about to hum verse two when all the sounds suddenly intensified and the mirror cracked outwards. As if someone behind the fragile glass wanted to break free. The center of the mirror shattered as a pale, scabbed and rotted hand reached towards Ryou's face.

"_HELP!" _The wicked voices shouted as one. Ryou clutched his head, blood in his mind's eye, and screamed as loud as he could.

Too bad no one could hear him.

**To Be Continued…**

Okay I'm posting this before revision because I'm lazy that way. If you see major problems please let me know so I can fix it.

Thank you!


	5. The Cold and the Numb

I thank you for your support, and I'm sorry that I'm taking so long with these updates. The plot bunnies refuse to come home, grrr, I need more cookies.

Or maybe some Starbursts…

**Bite and Burn**

**By LadyDeathStrike1**

**Chapter Five: The Cold and the Numb**

Atemu Tor awoke only to be lost somewhere indistinct and detached between nirvana and the black oblivion of his mind. His eyes were open, but he could not see. Sparks flickered like twinkling stars in the back of his eyes in an elaborate and lazy lightshow. His eyelids closed over his eyes languidly before pulling up again. All the nerves in his body were quiet finally resting after years of constant relaying of messages and screaming at the pressure of the slightest touch or the fiercest stab of pain.

"_Atemu_?" A soft voice whispered in the blank confines of his mind, ringing like a crystal bell. "_Atemu_?"

"Yugi…" The word rolled of his tongue and tumbled playfully over his lips. Atemu felt his eyes close, and he glimpsed a soft glow…of what color? Purple, maybe?

_Purple…oh what a crude word, what a childish, boorish and savage word that is. No the glow is softer, brighter, clearer, oh so much better than mere _purple_. Oh wait it isn't just a glow…it is two orbs of light. They sparkle like stars, like dying stars. Mauve, perhaps? _Atemu's voice rambled in his voice with abandon, forgetting himself and drifting in the blissful emptiness of his mind. _No, not mauve. Oh no no no much too bright and shiny to be mauve. Maybe…violet…no…amethyst? Yes, amethyst. Oh how pretty those diamonds are…_The orbs suddenly disappeared. Atemu felt disappointment ripple in the blank darkness of his mind. They had been so _shiny,_ why did they have to go?

"_Yami…_"the soft voice called again, only there was something lingering in the speaker's tone. Something sad…desperation, maybe?

"Yugi?" Atemu called out, and his voice echoed into infinity in the blackness. Something was wrong.

"_Yami…!" _There was definite urgency in the little boy's voice. Some piece of Atemu's common sense floated back into his ears, and he felt his heart flutter with hope. Maybe…maybe…could it be? _Had he finally _found_ Yugi?!_

"Yugi!" Atemu called louder this time, his voice reverberating in the black hole. There was silence, even his echoes had become mute. A chill was in the air, a coldness that Atemu could feel. Something was definitely wrong…

"_ATEMU!_" The voice, Yugi's voice, suddenly screamed before giving way to cries of agony that tore Atemu's heart to ribbons and coated his insides with ice.

"YUGI!" Atemu suddenly bolted straight up. The black void was gone, he was in some sort of white room, but Yugi's screams still echoed in his head. Shutting his eyes against the achingly bright light of the room he was in, he clutched his head. His head throbbed painfully, and he bit his lip. The fluttering, beating bird in his chest was being crushed like a can, and Atemu gasped with pain.

After his body adjusted, Atemu sprang to life in the infirmary room and hurled the closest thing his had could reach, a glass of water, at the wall. It shattered upon impact, breaking into thousands of sharp, deadly pieces. An anguished, frustrated cry erupted from Atemu's throat before a crystal vase filled with baby's breath and magnolias joined the stain of water on the wall where the glass had shattered. The vase shattered just as the glass did while the stems of the flowers snapped like spines and lay amidst the broken pieces of glass and crystal.

Atemu would normally never allow himself to sink to such a level of madness, but he couldn't help himself. He had been so close! The presence in his arms that he had lost for seven years and counting had been so close that he could feel Yugi's skin against his fingertips. For the first time in the despairing years of obsession, Atemu had felt hope that perhaps Yugi was still out there. In previous years, hell even yesterday and the day before, he had considered the possibility more than once that Yugi may have moved on from the world. He bore this thought in mind, promising himself that if the famous Charles Xavier could not help him, no one could, and it meant that Yugi no longer had the status of being able to be found.

But now, right before the moment of surrender, Atemu had felt Yugi's presence, as if the boy were standing next to him. Atemu knew without a doubt that Yugi was alive, and he still needed to be found. Atemu growled as he grabbed his pillow in a fierce grip. The white linen turned black and brown as it burned in Atemu's fiery hold. Black tongues of flame flickered wickedly, but they remained small. Atemu ripped the pillow apart before giving a yell as he overturned the wire frame of his infirmary bed. Seven years of searching, and Yugi was _alive_! He was waiting for his best friend to find him. Atemu collapsed to his knees and banged his fists once on the ground. He had been so _close_!

"Aibou…" Atemu murmured to the floor as hot tears stained the feather and shattered crystal covered floor.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was barely the end of October, and already jovial Santa Claus dolls were waving at customers in the Bayville mall. Alongside the cackling witch robots and the twitching severed hands were hundreds of Rudolphs glowing and laughing, forgetting completely that Thanksgiving occurred between the two holidays. Occasionally, little pilgrim boys and girls would be found dancing around a table set with food, and copper leaves would decorate stores, but Christmas fever had engulfed the giant building like a plague.

The bustling shoppers, even some early Christmas shop-a-holics, were hastily walking around, barely noticing the small huddled figure lingering near one of the sparkling shop windows. The boy's black hoodie and ripped jeans and shoes drew looks from some passersby. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, and his odd purple eyes glittered with suppressed joy at the little snow globes twinkling in the window. Yugi was so entranced by the glittering ornaments that he failed to notice that a passerby had stopped to watch him.

A tall man in his later years huddled himself in a large leather trench coat and his well-clipped show-white hair was hidden beneath a fedora-esque hat. Eric Lensherr was in no hurry when a small ratty looking boy caught his attention. From where he stood, Eric could see the unnaturally pale skin of the boy's face as well as the frosty streaks beneath his eyes. The boy's large purple eyes also added to his odd appearance. Eric had seen many out-of-place things in his weary life, but the boy introduced something unique on a softer level, almost nonexistent to the point of being blatant.

"The holidays are coming." Eric found himself saying, and he was shocked to find himself suddenly standing next to the boy. The boy jumped slightly, but he made no move to face Eric.

"I know." The boy said softly, too softly. Eric did not fail to notice the way the boy stiffened at every word that came out of his and Eric's mouth. "It get's cold around the holidays."

"Do you have anything special planned?" Eric said a little hesitantly. It was a rather personal topic to broach with a complete stranger. The strange boy stiffly turned his gaze up towards Eric, as if his neck was made of concrete.

"Not really, sir, how about you?" He said forcefully. Eric shrugged, hoping to seem nonchalant.

"Not really, my family's all grown up, you see." Eric was surprised at himself for admitting this, even if it was only half true. The boy nodded, a cautious smile spreading on his face. He blinked before staring at the snow globe again. A worker in the shop suddenly reached into the display area to take the globe. The boy followed it with an intense gaze and continued to follow its movements even as the worker placed on a shelf farther away from the window and out of his sight.

"Do you like snow globes?" Eric asked, pretending to be interested in a light-up hand-sized Rudolph and Santa Claus set. The boy suddenly nodded enthusiastically, his eyes alit with wonder.

"Yeah! That one's the best, though. Too bad she moved it."

"That Rudolph looks nice. I think I'll go buy it." Eric added before walking into the shop. He faced the light-up set, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy come into the shop a little hesitantly. Good, he had taken the bait. Eric knew there was something about the boy that he needed to find out, but it also would seem a bit conspicuous for a grown man to be conversing with a teenage boy outside of a shop window. The shop a little small but filled with shelves upon shelves of Christmas items, and a small cash register area was sitting in the back.

Something akin to a smile quirked Eric's lips when he noticed the boy staring at the snow globe again, standing on the tip of his toes to see the globe better. The shop worker had placed it on one of the higher shelves. The worker, a dimpled brunette whose name tag read "Leah", stood beside him.

"Would you like to see that snow globe?" She said kindly, not noticing the boy stiffen and jump slightly with surprise.

"Y-Yes, please." He squeaked, voice very soft. Being rather tall, Leah the worker retrieved the globe rather easily and held it in front of the boy's face. Amidst white glitter was a bench on a snow-covered hill. A streetlamp hung about it and a snuggling couple sat beneath a clump of mistletoe hanging from the street lamp. The golden plate on the base read "Let it Snow". The boy took it in his hands, eyes sparkling. Eric waited a few seconds before subtly making his way towards the boy.

"That's a nice snow globe." He said pleasantly, examining the boy. "What's your name, if you don't mind?"

"Yugi." The teen said idly as he turned the palm-sized globe in his hands.

"That's a beautiful name, Yugi." Leah said cheeringly, grasping said teenager's shoulder in a friendly way. Yugi nearly leapt out of his skin and fumbled with the small snow globe, nearly dropping it. Eri turned slightly, eyes peeled for any slip in the boy's character. He was not disappointed. In reflex, Leah had grasped Yugi's forearm to steady him and the snow globe he nearly dropped. The boy's loose sleeves were pulled back by her firm grip for enough time to reveal faint markings on the inner area of his arm. Eric felt his blood freeze and his stomach pulsate with unease. A small and faint, but present, line of digits were tattooed into the child's arm. The color, font and precision of the digits matched that of the markings Eric carried on his own arm, the irremovable symbol that branded him a survivor of the Holocaust.

"I'm sorry, I-" Yugi panicked. Leah waved placed a hand on her chest, breathing deeply with airy giggles.

"Oh it's alright, don't worry about it. I didn't mean to startle you." She said smilingly, patting Yugi gently on the back. He hastily put the snow globe on a nearby shelf. Leah raised a delicate eyebrow.

"You ain't gonna buy it?" Leah asked. "Not that you have to mind, you just seemed really taken by that globe." Yugi didn't answer. Eric felt his instincts flare up when he noticed the way Yugi's body stiffened, not a muscle moving. He had seen that stance far too many times before.

"Um, Yugi? Are you alright?" Leah asked uncertainly, gently laying a hand on said teenager's forearm. Eric saw the flash in Yugi's eyes before Leah, and the Master of Magnetism only just managed to save himself. The metal framed shelves shifted of their own accord to surround Eric just in time.

The temperature dropped drastically in mere seconds, and frost instantly covered both sides of the shop display window. Icicles appeared out of thin air to hang like sharp, dripping teeth from the ceiling. Icy winds filled with flurries of snow and sharp pieces of hail whirled inside of the small shop, fragile Christmas ornaments shattered, brass autumn leaves clattered and porcelain figurines broke upon the hard floor. There was a mourning howl and the chimes jingled shrilly. Amidst the noise and cold, Leah let out a long high-pitched scream that didn't seem to stop but instead simply fade away.

As abruptly as it came, the winds stopped and the temperature rose marginally. The metal shelves were covered with dripped snow, ice and bits of hail, but Eric himself was untouched save for cold shoes and face. Again the shelves moved away from him, scraping again the ice chunk covered ground. Yugi was gone, but Leah was in the same spot she was in merely minutes ago. Her entire body was covered in a thin line of ice; her face was stretched in a scream, and her hands were wildly thrown in front of her as meager shields. Quickly, Eric left the shop through the shattered glass door, which had been thrown off its hinges. Before making his hasty leave, Eric noticed the snow globe Yugi had favored laying shattered on the ground, the cuddling couple split apart by the fall.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Atemu!" Ororo Munroe cried upon entering the infirmary room. The glass and vase lay in shattered pieces on the ground, the bed was flipped over onto its side and there were ash marks on the ground. Atemu was standing at the window, gazing solemnly outside.

"What happened in here?!" Ororo demanded while placing the food tray on a nearby desk. When Atemu didn't answer, natural instincts for concern changed Ororo's tone. Frowning she cautiously moved closer to Atemu. "Is something wrong?" Atemu tilted his head a fraction of an inch, his blood red eyes glancing briefly at her.

"He's close." He said quietly, breath fogging the cold window. He suddenly turned fully to her, eyes cloudy and dark. Ororo flinched inwardly, years of seeing too much and knowing much more revealed a hidden madness inside the young man's eyes to her.

"Who, Atemu?" She replied softly, cautiously watching for any of his actions. Fire burned in his eyes, the madness more prominent than before.

"I need to see the Professor."

**TBC…**

**I know that this chapter is less than satisfactory, but writer's block has basically sprained my spine. Hopefully, the plot will work out, and I pray my grammar is not horrendous (though knowing me it's probably detestable). Thank you all for your kind reviews. Sorry that the chapter took so long to come out, I'm planning to actually write a few more chapters before posting them, just so I can keep up. **


	6. Intentions

NOTE: Yes, these updates are taking a lot of time. I'm having a great deal of difficulty adding depth to the plot. Hopefully, it will turn out alright. Ideas are welcome.

NOTE 2: This storyline may follow a little along the plot of the second X-Men movie. I do not own the basis of that movie, I am only referencing it in the following chapter.

NOTE 3: I realize when referring to characters from _X-Men:Evolution_ I often switch between their code names and their real names. If this causes confusion, please notify me immediately.

NOTE 4: My computer has been screwing me over. Hopefully, all the bold and spacing will work on this document.

**Bite and Burn**

**By LadyDeathStrike1**

**Chapter Six: Intentions **

The cavernous hallway was dimly lit by ominously flickering bulbs hanging from chains in the ceiling. A single man walked with a determined pace. Rather late in his years, his hair was cut close to scalp, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He shifted a bulky briefcase in one hand while using the other to adjust the collar of his wool sweater. He had the air of an ordinary day-to-day man on his way to work; the image was a little offset by his grimy surroundings that echoed with the spine-tingling dripping of escapee water drops from the lake above the underground establishment. The tunnel ended in a huge circular steel door, and the man punched the access code into the number pad beside it. With a soft hiss, the door rolled aside, and he walked through.

"Welcome back, Mr. Stryker." A man sitting at a desk adjacent to the door replied routinely as soon as William Stryker passed through the door. He was scanning a computer screen, pencil behind his ear.

"Good to be back, Greg." He said, not even glancing at the desk manager. The room was alive with the buzzing and clicking of three dozen computers, large screens displaying various charts and advanced search engines hovered above the heads of the scientists, the colors and the flickering statistics almost maddening to watch. The room was lined by six rows of six computers each with its own scientist. To the left of the room was a window that acted as a two-way mirror into an empty white-walled room.

"How is the search coming?" Stryker asked another man standing behind the closest line of men and women scanning through the constant appearing and disappearing of programs on the screens of their respective computers. This second man was better built and taller but streaks of grey sliced through his dark brown hair. A pointed two-part mustache added to his surly look. Bolivar Trask merely glanced at William Stryker before returning his attention to one computer screen, which depicted the profile of a young man alongside his respective physical status.

"Slowly, but most of the projects should be located in at least two days time." Trask said curtly, eyes glued to the many screens in the room. "There is one slight hitch in the operation, however."

"What might that be?"

"The more advanced projects will be more difficult to find. Our adapted search engines can only find them when their abilities are activated." Trask was rather startled when Stryker let out a rather condescending chuckle. "What is so funny?" Stryker merely wiped his spectacles.

"There is no need for worry, my friend. I know for a fact that there is someone very special who can help us find the more elusive fruits of our labor." He chortled, almost jovially if his eyes were not so steely and metallic. He reached over the shoulders of one of the operatives working at a computer, clicked the mouse and a file appeared on one of the large screens above the heads of the two men. A pale, sallow face was seen. The man was bald, his eyes pale, as if he had never been exposed to sunlight.

"You recall, _Bolivar_, that I managed to acquire some valuable data from a project known as 'Cerebro', correct?"

"Of course I remember, I was there!" Trask said indignantly. Stryker smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Just making sure you're keeping up." He quipped. He pointed vaguely at the man on the screen. "This is Caliban, and with a little…er…_persuasion_, I'm sure he can tell us what we want."

"Persuasion?" It was Trask's turn to smirk. "If _you_ recall, _William_, what happened with that 'source' that brought you files from Cerebro, your methods of _persuasion_ may not work as well." Stryker shook his head wearily, briefly resembling a rather old, worn gray grizzly bear.

"As much as I hate to admit it, my serum does not have quite the influence I thought it would. More research is required. But, on the bright side, there are other options we could take." He said simply, typing again over the computer operative's shoulder. Trask's eyebrows hitched together dangerously.

"What do you mean?"

"This is what I mean." Stryker said, indicating the screen with a gloved hand. The profile image of Caliban changed to one of a man so unruly, so _wild_, that Trask actually flinched. The face on the screen was young and tanned, but his platinum blonde hair stuck out at all possible ends, defying physics with a gusto. His eyes were rather large, piercing, and his pupils very small, giving him a deranged look. In fact, his brown skin seemed stretched taut over his cheekbones like a film of rubber. The image had obviously been a photo due to the fact that this man was protruding a rather long and spit-coated tongue in the direction of the camera. Trask wanted desperately to look away from this ridiculous sight. Stryker noticed this and chuckled in that same patronizing way.

"Quite the looker, eh?" He said. "Despite his rather devilish look, I think you'll agree that he will be helpful in convincing not only Caliban but many others."

"And who will convince _this_ man?" Trask asked exasperatedly. Stryker smiled again.

"No one." He turned away open his briefcase and pull out several manila folders. "I am a man of many years, Bolivar. And if there is one thing I am proud about myself, it's that I know what people want." He said, opening one folder and smiling rather fondly at the contents. Trask frowned and leaned over to study the papers inside, and Stryker did not protest. A small, yet agreeing, smile spread beneath Trask's moustache.

"I see your point." He said, nodding. He turned away from Stryker. "Tomorrow, I expect?" Stryker nodded as well, turning to leave.

"We'll be meeting our guests tomorrow evening, perhaps in time for late night Jeopardy." Stryker said, his amicable tone not quite spreading to his frosty gaze. Trask waited for the hiss of the door after Stryker left. His face was marred by a dubious look, which, oddly enough, suited his pitted features.

"Perhaps."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"You e-mailing that Sandy bitch again?" Bakura growled in annoyance while leaning back in his chair, his wild silver hair slipping from his shoulders. His partner, a platinum-blonde Egyptian with hair just as untamable as his cohort's if not more so stuck out his tongue childishly at the albino.

"His name's Hell-Cat, not Sandy." He said, a crazed smile stretching the tan skin on his face. He turned resolutely to his worn laptop, typing away furiously. Bakura snorted, glancing around the well-furnished lobby of the Bayville Oasis hotel. Why a mundane city such as Bayville had a fucking five-star hotel was a mystery to the rugged man; it's not like too many people came to Bayville for the sights. On the other dirty hand, it was a welcome change to the shelters beneath dumpsters and scrounging for meals from trash cans and stores like some white-haired raccoon.

No one else was in the lobby, save for the desk workers and the bellmen hovering by the revolving, gold-framed doors. Marik, the blonde young man, continued to type away excitedly, even as the key covers of certain vital letters such as "B" and "R" flew off to clatter on the small café table. Bakura noticed a pimply bellman casting furtive glances in his direction every few minutes. Staring intently, Bakura tried to hold the bellman's gaze, but it seemed the young man learned quickly and stared resolutely at the opposite wall of the lobby. The tick-tocking of a polished grandfather clock signaled the late night, and Bakura snarled angrily.

"Where the fuck is LeBeau? He went to get a drink hours ago!" Bakura hissed, earning a rolling of eyes from Marik.

"The Frenchie probably found some beaver to bang or something. Bitching about waiting isn't going to get you anywhere." Marik groaned. Bakura scowled darkly.

"'Kay smart shit, no one finds a 'beaver to bang'. It's a 'hoe to screw', and look whose talking about bitching, Mr. Pedophile-To-Be. 'Oh, damn, little Sandy isn't here to play', 'Shit, how am I supposed to sleep without reading Hell-Cat's latest news?'. How old is this punk you're flirting with, eleven?" Marik mirrored Bakura's frown.

"_Malik _is seventeen, exactly. Four years off your calculation, dumb shit."

"Dumb shit, yourself. Six years, to the dot. Being able to count might make you less of a dumbass than you already are. Though, that might be asking for a miracle." Bakura smirked as Marik fumed. He opened his mouth to speak, when a tall man in a brown trench coat carrying a long metal pole seemed to appear right by his shoulder out of nowhere.

"There now, mon ami. No need to get ruffled, Remy's back." Gambit cooed, his red-pupil eyes chilling Marik inwardly.

"'Bout time you got here, asshole." Bakura muttered, taking a swig of beer. "What took you? Surely a drink doesn't take three fuckin' hours." Remy grinned roguishly.

"Remy had more dan a drink. Boss had another mission for 'im." Gambit snickered while idly flipping through a deck of cards. Marik glanced up quickly.

"Where is the Boss man anyway?" He chirruped, quickly returning to his furious typing. At that moment, a wrinkled man with dark matted hair and a hunched demeanor loped in through the front doors of the hotel. Jason Wyngarde, Mastermind, nodded at the other Acolytes without uttering a word. Bakura noticed the pimply bellman's eyes on him again.

"Magneto _has _been gone for a couple days now." John Allerdyce, Pyro, said while wearing a mask of mock regret. It was common knowledge the pyromaniac cared little for their leader, especially after said leader seemingly returned from the dead, much to John's dismay. Bakura drank deeply before speaking again.

"We should hold a search party." He said with fake concern. "Check every senior citizen center in a fifteen mile radius for the old fart." He snorted. Marik guffawed rambunctiously, ignoring the startled looks of the desk workers and the bellmen.

"That won't be necessary, Bakura." A cold voice said, right behind Marik's shaking form. Immediately, the laughing man clamped his hands over his mouth and peered over his shoulder in a fearful, almost comical, manner.

"Bonjour." Gambit said monotonously, barely looking up from his shuffling. "Took you long enough to ge' here." Erik Lensherr, Magneto, walked briskly towards Marik, who was typing loudly again. He snapped the lid shut, nearly cutting off Marik's fingers in the process. Marik's mouth flew open in protest, but Magneto cut him off.

"I await some colleagues of mine who have information in regards to our current goals. Once they arrive, I will inform you of our plans. Before you retire to your rooms, I would like you to meet an old friend of mine." Erik motioned to the door. He waved to the pimply bellman, who hopped to attention and scurried over immediately. Glancing at the desk workers, Magneto leaned close to the young man's face.

"No need for that." He murmured. Bakura blinked, and suddenly a tall red-haired woman in a business suit was standing before them in place of the bellman. A rather sour look diminished her natural beauty.

"Many of you are already acquainted with Mystique. She will be helping us gather vital information in order to reach our goals. We need to speak privately now, you are dismissed. Jason, you may stay." Magneto left no room for comment, and his remaining Acolytes, old and new, left immediately. Only Bakura lingered to give Mystique a long and scrutinizing look before turning hurriedly. The red-haired woman eyed him just as icily before frowning at Magneto.

"Who are the two new punks?" She asked, her tone frosty. Magneto's eyebrow quirked ever so slightly.

"Bakura and Marik. Sturdy young fellows. amazing capabilities-"

"Don't think you can pull one over my eyes." Mystique said lowly, her eyes narrowing. "I saw their files at that CARE center you sent me to snoop. They are not the usual lackies, are they?" Magneto's face remained emotionless.

"So you did manage to gather some information? I suppose you are not completely useless after all. I may not regret requesting for your help." Magneo smirked at Mystique's furious look. She turned away angrily, her eyes burning a hole in the lobby floor.

"I don't even know why I'm here." She turned back to her former cohort. "All you've done in our partnership is leave me to pick up the scraps. Questioning my loyalty, working behind my back-"

"As much as I would enjoy a walk down memory lane," Magneto cut off impatiently, "you know just as well as I do that you need me as much as I need your, _individual_, abilities." He nodded approvingly at Mystique's enraged, but quiet, expression. "Did you get the victim files, as I expressed?"

"No. They're guarded by security I did not have the motivation to breach at the time." Mystique bit out every word through tight lips. "It is clear all CARE organizations have the same database for found and missing victims of the Second Holocaust. If I had the opportunity to breach the organization again, I could retrieve the files." Mystique shifted almost nervously. "Why are you so interested in the past, Magneto? I don't recall you being the type to hold regrets." Magneto sat back in his chair.

"I would ask you the same reasons. I don't _recall _you being the type to care for anyone but yourself." He said lowly, eyeing the desk workers. Mastermind tilted his head slightly, indicating mild interest. Mystique cast a wary glance at the frog-like man.

"I have my own reasons. Personal ones, I might add." She pressed, her brow crinkling in warning. Magneto nodded slightly.

"I suppose it would only be polite to share my theories with my most trusted partner." He said, sarcasm dripping off his tone in gobs. "The Second Holocaust, its outcome more specifically, holds significant differences to the first Holocaust of Adolph Hitler. You may have heard on the news several years ago, how equipment was found in certain areas for genetic experimentation. I have studied the victims reported in the media, and a majority of the victims are mutants. In fact, any human victims of the Second Holocaust were discovered in the form of a pile of bones or in massive graves with at least ten people in one. All the survivors reported were mutants or were reported with non-human traits." Mystique shrugged.

"Coincidence, perchance?" She said mockingly. Magneto shook his head.

"Around the same time this information was reported, it was released for a brief period of time that evidence proved characters such as Bolivar Trask and a woman by the persona Madame Hydra were involved in the capture and holding of the thousands of victims of the Second Holocaust. Think, for a moment. After the discovery of this operation, Trask builds sentinels to end the next step in human evolution. Hydra falls due to a rogue assailant, said to be one of its own operatives. Genetic experimentation, evidence of mental and physical torture. Can you piece together my theory, or has your mind dulled over the years?" Magneto said, his tone growing impatient. Mystique thought for a moment before her eyes widened.

"You believe they were _creating _mutants?" She said, her voice a touch incredulous. Magneto nodded.

"Perhaps, but I strongly believe they were searching for a way to use our fellow mutants, maybe even control them. Which would explain Trask's Sentinel program later on. If it cannot be controlled, it must be destroyed. So says the motto of the human race." Magneto said scornfully.

"What do you need the CARE files for?" Mystique asked hurriedly. "CARE only helps the victims of the Second Holocaust adjust to normal life. It doesn't carry the information of the operation itself?"

"But it will have a list of the victims as well as their respective information. I need those files. But don't feel rushed, Mystique. A mutual friend of ours is tracking down information on a more personal account." Magneto soothed with a smirk, for Mystique's face was a mask of rage.

"Personal?" She questioned through gritted teeth. At that moment, a rather large and hairy man draped in a huge black trench coat and a hat lumbered into the hotel, nearly sending the revolving door off its central hinge. A woman working at the desk paled considerably, but she said nothing. Creed, the mutant known as Sabertooth, sat down gruffly at the table Magneto and Mystique were conversing over.

"How long do I have to stay in this monkey suit, Boss?" He growled, baring sharp yellow teeth. "Enough spending energy tracking down the runt while melting in this business man's gown."

"Did you find the boy I specified?" Magneto said brusquely, ignoring Sabertooth's complaints. The beastly man picked at his teeth with a long, yellow and claw-like fingernail.

"Yeah I got 'im. Went to that trashed store like ye said. The store lady was wearin' some nasty smelling flower shit, but I found him. Tracked him for two days, just like ye said. He mostly stays at this abandoned subway downtown. Someplace called the Tunnel Sub. Or, least it used to be called that when it was bein' used. You'll prolly fin' 'im there." Sabertooth explained, sniffing expertly. Magneto dismissed him with a wave of a gloved hand before turning briskly to Mystique.

"I expect those files, _all _the files, in three days' time. On second thought, my mistake, day after tomorrow we can provide a window of opportunity for you to get the files. Meet us at the CARE center by seven a.m. Understood? I don't need to remind you what failure will cost-" Magneto was stopped by Mystique abruptly standing in her chair.

"Perhaps _you _need to be reminded." She snarled quietly. "I don't work for you. If I fail, it's your own information you're losing. You won't have my _abilities _to throw around anymore. I expect _you_ to make sure your cronies don't fail me. Otherwise, you won't get your list." With that said, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the lobby. At Magneto's queue, Mastermind stood and walked over to the desk workers for a little memory adjustment, leaving him authority to his own thoughts.

The boy intrigued him; he could not lie. What unnerved Magneto the most was how _different_ the problems were amidst the health of the victims of this Second Holocaust. During the past few weeks he had been able to speak with several of the surviving victims, most of whom were suffering mental conditions. With a little persuasion, he had managed to convince some of the victims to retell their experiences, most of which were lost in amnesia. Instead of the punishments from leaders who wished for genocide and scientific discovery, the experiences the victims relayed were emotion-breeding and obedience demanding, as if the captors were seeking to break their victims, but not kill them. As if the captors were preparing their victims for something. Certainly, their motives were different from the first holocaust. That is, if _they_ were the same type of racial haters as before.

Shuddering at lingering memories, Magneto glanced down at his sleeve, where numbers were emblazoned on the vein-ridden skin of his underarm. He had to know if the goal had been the same.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Please step up here, Atemu." Dr. Hank McCoy said kindly to the Egyptian, who looked rather sleep-deprived and jittery. Shortly after Atemu littered the infirmary room with broken glass, Ororo had called for Hank to check over Atemu's health, despite his protests and his insisting that he needed to see the professor. Needless to say, the Egyptian had been too incensed by Ororo's refusal to really be shocked by McCoy's blue and furry appearance. The two conversed in Hank's laboratory.

"I'm going to have to take a blood sample, if that is alright. It's procedure." Hank said kindly, disregarding Atemu's stormy look.

"Not to be rude, but why can't I see the professor?" He said hotly, clearly not caring if he was rude at all. Hank, who was familiar with the rashness of teenagers, merely nodded.

"The professor is currently working towards finding your friend. Yes, I know all about it." Hank chuckled on Atemu's surprised expression. "I'm a teacher here, Atemu, and Professor Xavier keeps me up to date." Atemu cringed distinctly before Hank pierced the skin of his forearm with a syringe.

"Dr. McCoy-"

"Please call me Hank." The furry mutant said with a quirky smile that Atemu could not help but return.

"Hank," he amended, "forgive me for asking so many questions, but what does the Professor do, exactly?"

"You might have gathered from the millions of dollars we are currently sleeping in, but Professor Xavier is one of the more fortunate individuals. Unlike other rich men, he devotes much of his fortune to the benefit of young mutants." Hank replied simply. Atemu frowned, despite the evaporation of his earlier frustration.

"But you said he was working-"

"Tell me, do you know about Cerebro?" Hank asked. Without looking up to see Atemu shake his head, Hank continued. "It is a machine that allows a strong telepath, like the professor, track down other mutants. He's searching for your friend, Yugi, right? He's searching for him now." Hank smiled at Atemu's unspoken question. "Charles has shared a theory with me Atemu. He believes Yugi to be a mutant due to an interesting pattern he noticed with a list of the victims of the Second Holocaust. Most of the survivors-"

"-are mutants?" Atemu finished, his expression slightly incredulous. Hank nodded.

"Of course, the professor can't know for sure. And, unfortunately, Cerebro can only detect mutant signatures when mutants use their abilities. Oh, that reminds me. Charles wanted to know if he could have your permission to receive the lists of victims that you are allowed to view because of your specific circumstances." Hank placed the blood sample inside a container before placing it in the fridge. He observed Atemu with what could of have seen as an impressed glance.

"What is it?" The Egyptian asked, feeling a little uneasy. Hank chuckled.

"Some of the students who got burned from that little bathroom accident-" Atemu shuffled awkwardly, "told me about your collection of newspaper clippings and your search engines on your PC. It seems you really take your work seriously."

"I didn't mean for that fire in the bathroom." Atemu said hurriedly, casting a worried glance at the doctor before gazing at his feet. Hank placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Accidents such as these usually occur from lack of control over mutant abilities. This loss of control can result from emotional build-up or stress." The doctor stared hard at Atemu. "With what Ororo has told me about your stay in the infirmary, forgive me for suggesting something this, but something is seriously disturbing you. Would you like to talk about it?" He inquired. Atemu's gaze remained resolutely on his feet. He was silent for a few minutes before he spoke very quietly,

"I have to find him." Hank listened, his eyes trained on the young man. Atemu took a shuddering breath. "I failed him the first time, Dr. McCoy. I need to find him. I need to make it _right_." He looked up at the doctor's furry face, his expression suddenly desperate.

"What's wrong?" Hank asked, concern softening his beast-like features. Atemu's eyes shone before he looked away quickly. Something painful was blocking his throat, making it hard to breathe. The laboratory dissolved into darkness, giving way to vivid images.

"I could swear it happened yesterday. His face, looking up at me. He was crying, crying so much. He was crying when they took him away. He was crying for _me._" Atemu bit his lip. "Sometimes I remember the days before all the troubles. He's always holding my hand in those dreams, telling me I'm his best fried. Begging me never to leave him. 'I'm all alone, here.' He always says." Atemu shut his eyes tight. "I need to find him. I need to find him. I need-" his voice broke, preventing him from repeating the next two words, so he ended up saying, "-him."

"We'll help you any way we can, Atemu." Hank said kindly, placing a sturdy hand on the young man's shoulder. Shame-faced, Atemu turned his face away from Hank's gaze. Sometimes it drove him crazy, how easily he crumbled when he thought about Yugi. Here he was, blubbering to a near stranger, admitting his darkest dreams, like he was a child. The fact of the matter was, he had to be more mature, more grown-up. If he could not hold himself up, who would?

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Though still late October, the nights became eerie and chilly, light frost coating the buildings in the early morning. It was around nine o' clock at night when Erik Lensherr made his way to the 'Tunnel Sub', a subway station that had long since abandoned abuse. As he descended the concrete steps into the semi-darkness, he noticed many lit trash cans and several forms weaving in and out of the darkness. He squinted in the shadows, which were only illuminated by sputters from flame. Ignoring the hostile looks from the men, women and children, all garbed in clothes that may have been worn for twenty years, Erik circled around both platforms of the Tunnel Sub, only to find that the boy was not there. Sighing in frustration, he turned briskly, annoyed at the waste of time.

"Are you looking for someone?" A soft voice asked. Erik turned to see a woman dressed in an old coat covered with a grimy apron and hole-filled rain boots. Her hair, which was tied up in a bun, was messy and flayed, and her eyes were dark and laden with purple shadows. Despite her disheveled appearance, she wore a kind smile. He nodded stiffly, and her smile widened even further.

"Are you looking for the quiet boy?" She asked, staring eerily into Erik's eyes. "It's odd for youngsters his age to be so still, like a statue. I'll take you to him, if you want." She spoke very breathily, as if she were constantly panting from physical exertion. Without waiting for an answer, the woman turned around and moved swiftly to the abandoned tracks, humming to herself. She bent down near the pit's edge, leaning over precariously. Erik followed cautiously lest he startled her and caused her fall. She peered over the edge for several minutes, humming to herself. That is, until Erik realized that she wasn't humming, she was whispering, as if someone was listening in the depths of the abandoned train tracks.

"Come on up." She was saying. "Come on up, there's someone who wants to see you." Erik moved closer, and only then did he notice the sudden abnormal drop in temperature; his breath was coming in clouds in front of his face. His fingertips were going numb, though it was not that cold outside. Finally a voice from the darkness squeaked,

"Who is it?" The woman looked up Erik with a bemused, silly kind of smile. Erik found himself, without actually planning to, kneeling on the edge of the platform. Peering down, he just managed to see the toes of ratty sneakers poking out beneath the cement, just barely touching the rusty tracks.

"Hello." Erik said, knowing how lame the word sounded. There was silence, and then, quite suddenly, the boy's face appeared. It was Yugi (which relieved Erik in the instance that the woman led him to _another_ homeless teenager would bring a load of awkward questions), and he wore the same outfit as the day of the store's sudden blizzard. His hair was as outrageous as before, but his clothes were just as dirty and his face just as pale.

"I just wanted to talk." Erik said slowly, and when Yugi nodded, he turned to the woman only to realize she had waltzed away, singing softly.

"What do you want?" Yugi asked, eyes wide, naïve. Erik wasn't quite sure what to say, so he reached inside his coat and pulled out a snow globe. He held it out to Yugi.

"I got you something, since the other one broke." Erik said uncomfortably. Yugi only stared at the small orb, entranced. It was only at that moment that Erik realized how very much like a pedophile he looked at the moment, hand outstretched to a young boy with a snow globe as if presenting bait to a potential catch. Yugi carefully pried the globe from Erik's hands, turning it over in his own.

"You're different from the others." He said quietly, so softly Erik had to lean in to hear. "They walk right past me, see right through me."

"You're different, too." Erik added. He didn't know why words were so hard to find; he was rather experienced with recruiting new Acolytes. "Aren't you?" Yugi stiffened, but he did not look away from Erik, staring blankly. "You can do things they can't, can't you?" Expecting him to be defensive, Erik was surprised when Yugi did not respond. Disconcerted, he stood on the edge of the platform.

"Can I come down?" He asked. Yugi nodded, and Erik leapt lightly. He noticed there was an alcove beneath the platform lined with moldy pillows, and a worn backpack sat in the corner. Erik looked again at Yugi, who was staring back, and Erik realized he could not hold Yugi's gaze for longer than a few moments.

"What do you want?" Yugi asked again, his eyes still boring into Erik's temple.

"I want to make you an offer." Erik said quickly, regaining some of his usual thread.

"Why would you want to offer _me_ something?" Yugi asked pointedly. Erik noticed several soda cans lying on the tracks. With a simple wave of his hand, the cans flew towards Yugi and landed with soft clinks in a perfect line in front of the teenager's feet. Though he didn't back away, Yugi's eyes grew even larger (if possible).

"Because I'm different like you. I know most don't understand what it's like, and they…er… react to it." Erik said softly, keeping an eye out for eavesdroppers. "You know what I mean, don't you?"

Yugi nodded so much that he resembled a rather bizarre bobble-head doll. Encouraged by the reaction, Erik leaned forward to speak in a softer tone.

"Yugi, I can offer you a way to escape all this. This filthy place, and these worthless people shadowing you while you sleep down here." Erik said. A slightly rebellious frown crossed her features.

"They're not worthless. They have dreams, too." He murmured, but there was no conviction in his voice. Bemused, Erik decided not to pursue the issue.

"But can they relate to you?" Erik pressed, noticing the way Yugi's eyes gazed unseeingly at the floor. He almost had him convinced, just a little more cajoling would do it. "Can they offer you a home?" Yugi's head lifted so quickly, his neck might have broken. His eyes were suddenly glistening, staring unblinkingly at Erik's eyes. Something about their purple depths chilled the older man to the bone, and he shivered. His breath was freezing in the air.

"H-Home?"

"That is what I offer you, Yugi." Erik said through chattering teeth as the temperature dropped alarmingly. The cold emanated from the scrawny boy. "A _sanctuary_. A group of _particularly_ gifted individuals. We work together to better the world with our abilities, you can do the same. We can understand you." Yugi's expression turned dangerously stoic.

"How can you understand?" He demanded, almost pleaded. Erik stared hard at him before pulling back his sleeve, revealing the brand on his arm. Yugi gasped, clutching his arm compulsively.

"I understand you in more ways than you know." Erik said quietly, eyes steely. Yugi's face was downcast, and when he didn't speak, Erik said, "Do you want to join my colleagues? Do you want a purpose?"

Slowly but surely, Yugi nodded jerkily and brought both blue-fingered hands to his mouth. He began to shake, as if with laughter. A familiar sense of triumph filled his chest like a comfortable, long-worn cloak; he knew another arm had been provided to spread his reach of ideals and goals. This quiet triumph was immediately replaced with awkward curiosity when Yugi let out a dry sob, and Erik realized the boy had been bawling, trying to stifle his noise with his hands. Born without natural paternal impulses, Erik could only watch and wait until Yugi finally stopped and stared at the snow globe clutched tightly in his hands. His tears had frozen on the pavement. Coughing unnecessarily, Erik stood abruptly.

"Shall we go?" He said, extending a gloved hand. Yugi only glanced once behind his shoulder at his alcove before swinging his tattered backpack over his shoulder, eyes on the snow globe.

"Let's go." To home or destiny or death. It did not matter to Yugi, as long as it was new and away from the cold of the dirty ones' stares.

**To Be Continued…**


	7. Impressions

Author's Note: You guys are awesome. Do not fear, I do plan to finish this fiction. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you so much for your support, which I far from deserve. Please enjoy this update. You will glad to hear that I have found my beloved plot bunnies and I've got some yarns for you. Expect more frequent updates.

**Bite and Burn**

**By Thornwriste**

**Chapter Seven: Impressions**

Ever since the ascension and re-imprisonment of the mega-mutant Apocalypse, things had quieted for the Acolytes, Remy LeBeau noticed. Rather than returning to base, where they would certainly be able to keep a low profile, Magneto had ordered constant vigilance from the scrutiny of society, and they had hotel-hopped for several weeks. It was out of the ordinary behavior for their normally much more organized and subtle leader, who had a taste for grand entrances that involved levitating metal spheres, mass explosions, battles with robots and grand toppling and mangling of said robots just so the revered mutant could prove that, yes, if it was metal, it was his bitch.

No, Remy sensed something was different. Perhaps something had changed their leader since his capture and enslavement during the Apocalypse incident, when the very powers that had earned Magneto his infamy and widespread calling had been turned against him and used against his own. Remy did not think Magneto was the type to brush off blows to his pride that easily, especially if they involved his mutation. On the other hand, some part of the French man told him that it was something else entirely. The only reason they would linger so close to the day-to-day lives of humans would be to keep a close lookout if anything were to change. Maybe Magneto could sense it, too.

Remy had always nurtured a sort of preternatural expectation for change, as if he could feel it speeding towards him, unavoidable and bound to make a big kaboom on impact. He long ago figured it had less to do with being a mutant than him growing up in a gang of thieves. He had felt the same approaching shift when Magneto first found him, introducing him to the Acolytes. He had felt it before Mesmero appeared, introducing the chaos Apocalypse would soon herald with his reawakening. He had even felt it just before the Sentinel made its debut in the streets of Bayville. The fact that he lacked the ability to foresee these changes frustrated him to no end. Remy had even taken more scout outings than usual, just to see if he could gather even an idea of what his gut was trying to tell him was coming.

He had just come from such an excursion, with nothing more than what he had when he left, and now he stood in the billiards room, left of the Merry-Stay lobby, leaning over the pool table to measure his next shot. John snickered, twirling his pool stick in his thick-gloved hands.

"Now, what seems to be so amusing?" Remy growled from his position. John only shrugged, though his eyebrows waggled impishly. Out of habit, Remy glanced around him. He couldn't spot any suspiciously shiny surfaces, banana peels or Coke bottles with bits of string hanging out of the lid. Still wary, he readied his shot, and then he noticed where John's eyes kept flickering to,. Sighing, Remy turned around, and, sure enough, there was a pail full of water sitting on the top edge of the door into the smoky billiards room, which stood slightly ajar.

"Again, John?" Remy shook his head, acing the 3 and 4 ball. "You'd think you'd use some better tricks." John sniffed.

"Oy, just cause you don't have a sense of humor worth poking' a stick at, doesn't mean we all can't have one." John jabbed at the pail. "It's a classic, mate. People never get tired of it. Isn't that right, Petey?"

Piotr Rasputin, a muscular and thick-set young man who was of all things _reading_ at a table by the empty bar, merely turned the page.

"It is a stupid trick, John." He intoned, Russian accent heavy in his speech. "Someone could get hurt." Both Remy and John stared at their fellow Acolyte, who looked up and flushed.

"Ah, I am sure you have both taken…what is it….physics? A pail falling hard could cause concussion or bruise."

"Who are you, Mothah Teresa?" John exclaimed loudly, earning a glare from Piotr. Remy opted not to remind John that even without his metal bio-armor, Piotr was a tank in comparison to scrawny John, who was next to defenseless without so much as a candle nearby. If a fight should break out, Remy decided to keep the abandoned lighter under the pool table a secret. Piotr stood abruptly, book slamming. John was jumping around with his pool stick, poking at the Russian from a distance, calling "Pansy-pants, pansy-pants".

Suddenly, Remy felt it. A swell of the intuition that something was coming; the taste of the air changed. As if the world had shifted ever so slightly on its axis, and only Remy could feel the magnitude of the difference. And for some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was coming any moment…from the left…through the entrance-

The door to the billiard rooms slammed open, and the three sole occupants had very different reactions. Remy leapt into action, snatching is bo-staff and facing the door to his left with the weapon in hand. Piotr quickly retracted the creeping metal membrane that had begun at his fingertips and had been moments before crawling up his forearms, staring blankly at the door. John froze in his crouching position against Piotr's aggressive stance and began to cackle madly, pointing wildly at the pail…

…which was falling right onto Magneto's silver head.

But as the pail flipped and water splashed out, there was an odd muffled swooshing sound, like air swallowing itself. Then, Remy realized his hands were shaking from cold, the metal of his bo-staff so chilling through his gloves it burned. John had stopped laughing; instead, he was emitting a soft chattering. In mid-air, the water from the pail froze, a great glittering crystal funnel in an instant, before missing Magneto by millimeters and shattering into frosty pieces on the carpeted floor. The pail crumpled with sharp shrieks into a fist-sized twisted ball, courtesy of one Master of Magnetism with astounding reflexes for a man his age. It, too, clattered on the ground. There was a pop in the air, and Remy could feel his fingers again, and the ice chunks on the floor began to drip. Only then did Remy notice the small figure standing just in front of Magneto, mangy hoodie covering torso and hair, but not the brilliant shade of his startled purple eyes. Remy could no longer feel the swooping of change, but the air still tasted different.

"My friends," Magneto did not try to hide his satisfied smirk. "this is Yugi. He will be joining us in our cause." Yugi squeaked in a rather mouse-like manner and tried to sidle behind Magneto's jacket.

Remy looked once again at the ratty child, peeking out from behind his leader's frame, and couldn't help but wonder if the man did in fact suffer emotionally from the estrangement of his children, and was now looking to adopt.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Atemu Tor awoke Monday morning at five in the morning. Since he did not know where the gym was in the Institute, though he hardly doubted there wasn't one, he pulled on his sweats and T-shirt for a brisk jog around the circular driveway behind the main gates. Half an hour later, he quickly assembled his clothes and toothbrush from his room, careful not to wake Alex, who was snoring softly amidst his blanket cocoon. It was a fortuitous occurrence that Atemu was the first to snag the shower, for, as he would learn, it became very crowded around 6:13 a.m. on school day mornings, especially on Monday mornings. After checking twice that his teeth were as white as they were yesterday after a thorough brushing and flushing (in circles, like the dentists say), Atemu stumbled out of the bathroom, stifling a wide yawn, only to stop at a surprised yelp. Turning, he noticed the pale red-and-white headed girl from the welcoming group when he first arrived, her expression half-groggy, half-surprised, inches away from his own. He then realized they were maybe a couple centimeters apart in height, hair not included.

"Ah, Atemu." Was all she managed, and Atemu couldn't help but revel in the richness of her Southern accent. He winced, suddenly remembering his episode the evening of his arrival. Knowing the severity of the damage and alarm he had caused, he tried very hard not to feel hurt at the guarded look in the girl's eyes.

"That's me." He opted to reply, raising a hand. That brought out a small smile to the her face. "You are Rogue, correct? Just want to make sure I have your names."

"Don't worreh if yah mess up. There are ah lot of us." Rogue tilted her head towards the bathroom door. "Yah finished?"

"Yes, I'm fresh and spearmint-y." Atemu finally noticed the towel, toothbrush, hair dryer and comb Rogue had cradled in one arm. "I thought the girls had their own bathroom, not that I'm bothered or anything." Rogue threw her towel over her shoulder.

"Well, yah kahnda burned ours down." Rogue said. Atemu gaze tilted downwards. Rogue spotted this at once and lightly punched his shoulder. "Hey, don't worreh bout it. Yah wouldn't be the first one. Every one of us has done some damage to the Institute, one way or another." Atemu's face cleared.

"Is that so?" He said. His tone recollected its regal touch, but Rogue could hear the inner nuances of hope and quiet pleading, similar to a child mumbling, "Really?". She grinned at that.

"Sure. Logan's sliced up so many sofas and tables Ah think thah Professor's given up on interior decoratin' value." She sniffed humouredly. "Yah put a bunch of mutie teens in one mansion, most with explosive things coming out of their hands, and yah gaht a lot of property damage." A slim eyebrow lifted on Atemu's face.

"Undoubtedly." His expression lightened, and Rogue could not quite explain the fluttering in her chest at the new, livelier smile gracing the Egyptian's face. "Who do you think has the highest damage count?" When his stunning red eyes glittered with mischief, Rogue suddenly experienced the sensation of all her limbs turning to gelatin.

"Ah think most of the younger kids would tell yah it's Sam. Yah'll prolly see him later." Rogue was startled at the steadiness of her own voice, especially since her arms had started vibrating spasmodically. "Ah think it's Scott. Just that he's one of the older kids, so no one 'cept maybe the Professor really remembers." She smirked, and Atemu mirrored the gesture. Again, Rogue felt her joints go noodle-limp.

"I suppose I have a long way to go then. I'll be nowhere near Scott if I've only burned down _one_ bathroom."

"Ooh, sounds like _someone _has a bit of a competitive streak." The two glanced up, Rogue over her shoulder, to see a tall and shapely redhead with a gorgeous complexion walking barefoot on the carpeted floor towards them, equally burdened as Rogue. Atemu stood up a little straighter; however, the red head had only warm smiles for the both of them

"Good morning, Rogue. Atemu." Jean nodded at the two. Atemu raised his hand once more.

"Jean Grey, I presume?"

"Just Jean. Jean Grey's my code name." Jean joked, earning a soft chuckle from Rogue as well. Inwardly, the redhead couldn't help but marvel at how quickly Atemu learned. Said student tilted his head.

"Code name?"

"When we're training, which you'll be a part of soon, we have code names." Jean offered. "Rogue isn't actually Rogue's name. We've used it forever, though." Jean smiled at her shorter friend, who rolled her eyes. Atemu chose not to comment. He wasn't sure if it was rude to ask Rogue's true name.

"Are these code names based on your mutations?" Atemu asked, his eyes lighting up with a curiosity that made him, for an instant, seem less troubled and serious, and more like a teenager. He seemed younger, something Jean realized meant that he normally looked older than his age. Rogue's expression, on the other hand, fell a little.

"Yeah. Mah powers allow meh to take othah people's powers from them through skin contact. Their memories, feelings, thoughts, everything about them becomes mahne if Ah hold on long enough."

"Hmmm, a Rogue, indeed." Atemu flashed another smirk. "I'll have to be careful around you. You seem a little dangerous." Rogue brushed the second fluttering in her stomach off as hunger. Atemu looked up at Jean Grey. "What about yours?" At this, she sighed.

"My powers include telepathy and telekinesis, but a code name was never made for me. Mr McCoy keeps telling me it connects the essence of my mutation to my soul, but I think it's because the Professor ran out of the good ones." She shrugged, shuffling the items in her arms. "He's a brilliant man, don't get me wrong. Not that creative with names, though." All three laughed. Then the girls were reminded why they had set their alarms particularly early that morning when Kurt appeared, groggy and yawning, to claim a half hour shower that would inevitably leave a blue ring around the drain.

Atemu found his own way to the kitchen downstairs. Though the hallways were grand and many at the Institute, he figured Professor Xavier a practical man since the building itself was pretty straightforward. Hints of fried eggs, bacon and ham perked his senses as he walked through the door; he inhaled gratefully. The kitchen turned out to be a very light-filled place, due to a huge window off to the side wall, allowing the sunlight to filter in and beam across the table, kitchen counter and cupboards. Ororo was standing at the stove, and a large plate of all sorts of breakfast essentials was growing by her elbow. She turned just as he walked in, a gentle smile on her features.

"Good morning, Atemu. I hope you slept well?" She glanced down at her cooking, opting to speak over her shoulder. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Sunny side up, thank you, Munroe-san."

"Just Ororo, no suffixes needed here."

Atemu sat down at the table, absorbing the tranquility, graced with Ororo's faint humming. In the quiet, his thoughts took tumultuous turn. Things had certainly turned out peachy-keen. After his frantic preparations to fly out from Egypt to Japan, and from Japan to America, not to mention his less than gracious reception of the warm welcome he received at the Institute…Atemu groaned, his face falling onto his arms. Barely a few hours into a new place, property of a renowned billionaire with impressive capabilities, and Atemu had burned down a bathroom and frightened a good number of the student body. How would Alex react to having a wildfire waiting to happen for a roommate? What would the other students think?

Atemu propped his chin against the table and sighed softly. He wasn't one to need a whole lot of company, but beneath the turmoil his ambitions caused, he craved comfort in camaraderie and friendship, even if only in a few people. To think he had already upset the impression he had hoped to present to his peers for the remainder of the year, as well as scare the daylights out of two or more of the teachers. Atemu tried to suppress the sudden, though not unexpected, swell of embarrassment that churned somewhere between his throat and stomach, tinged with mild despair. Glancing up, he noticed too late that Ororo had turned around, and her eyes were shining with concern, though she concealed it with a humored smile.

"Did Alex's snoring keep you awake?" She asked, turning back to the stove when the bacon hissed sharply. Atemu let out a low chuckle.

"No, no I slept just fine." He slept exactly three hours and seven minutes, and faint purple bags beneath his eyes proclaimed the truth though his tone and stance did not. Whether Ororo believed him, he couldn't tell, but he suddenly felt very much like kissing her hands when she set a steaming mug of coffee in front of him with a smile, fathomless with kindness. With less finesse than usual, Atemu grabbed the hot cup and took a deep draught. The aroma was intoxicating, liquid joy as it slipped down his throat, even if a few taste buds were sacrificed in the process.

"Glad to see someone else here likes Maxim. Roberto's always reminding me that coffee of any sort interferes with his muscle toning, only drinks herbal tea nowadays." She tended to the stove and passed him a plate of two bacon strips and two sunny-side up eggs. She sat across from Atemu as he helped himself to the food, cradling her own mug.

"I have to admit you are probably one of few students here provided with a less-than-comfortable introduction to the Institute." Ororo smiled. "Almost like a crash-course in getting to know some of the other mutants here. I was quite surprised to hear you didn't go into shock when you met Hank." Atemu offered a half-smile.

"I was hoping to make a better impression." He sighed. "I think I scared Hank more than he could me, considering my…erhm…accident in the bathroom." Atemu glanced up, an out-of-place uncertainty lingering in his red eyes. "It will be repaired soon, I hope? I understand the girls won't have a place to wash until then." Ororo laughed exasperatedly.

"You'll quickly find here that one burned down bathroom is a record for least amount of mansion damage done in one power surge. Charles confided in me that he keeps a special fund just for the rebuilding of this place." She glanced around the kitchen, and Atemu mimicked the path of her gaze. "It is lovely, but quite expensive. And Charles is much too generous and fortunate to let others pay for it. Even insurance. Hank is quite resilient. A little fire won't worry him."

"Actually, Rogue was telling me this morning about the beating this place seems to get." Atemu smirked as he glanced at the counters and table. "It is a bit of a comfort."

"It's important to understand that our powers grow as we do. So does our control. Just as much as growing physically is, mutation growth has its ups, downs and diagonals. It's never always easy. Even the simplest of mutant traits takes patience and self-awareness, which only comes with maturity." Ororo smiled at her coffee.

"I imagine that must be frustrating to deal with constantly. The combination of puberty and supernatural powers." Atemu said ruefully. Ororo nodded again.

"It certainly can be at times. Some of the other students here need to learn that they need to grow and act like adults if they want to master their powers. If they keep on behaving like kids, their powers are going to get ahead of them and out of their control. " She paused. "Same goes for those who try to grow up too fast." Her blue eyes were trained on Atemu's face, matching his stare. He opened his mouth to respond, but the kitchen door swung open with a bang and a shout.

About a dozen teens tried to squeeze through the entryway and lunge towards the four metal trays sitting atop the kitchen counter. Kurt appeared in a cloud of sulfurous gas next to the pancake tray, toothbrush still in his mouth. Rogue skillfully wove through four teenage boys to grab a couple muffins. Atemu was surprised to see a small wall of ice form in front of one tray, manifesting out of the palm of a brown-haired youth, which blocked anyone else from getting any toast. That is, until a brunet girl with shockingly rosy cheeks for such a tan face melted the ice with a fire ball crackling in her palm. In fact, all sorts of unbelievable things were happening all around Atemu, contrasting sharply against the normalcy of the kitchen. A boy with odd orange and yellow hair was frying eggs in the middle of the kitchen with a pan that Atemu realized he was heating with blue bolts of electricity dancing from his fingertips. He spotted another brown-haired boy, younger than the others, pound his fist into his other hand, and suddenly there were four of him picking up plates and whatever was within reach. Food items, silverware and a single bowl were floating into the air, and only then did Atemu realize that Jean had arrived in the kitchen as well. Next to the banging, buzzing and clouds of sulfur smoke, Hank walking into the kitchen, reading a newspaper with his feet while his monstrous hands walked him across the linoleum floor seemed quite natural. Atemu nearly had a heart attack with Kitty's head and neck materialized from the center of the kitchen table.

"Oh, Atemu there you are! I've been, like, looking all over for you." She chirruped, oblivious to the blank shock on Atemu's tan features. "I was just wondering, since it's, like, your first day at Bayville High, that maybe I could give you a ride? I got the Jeep today. We could head over after breakfast."

"It's cool, Kitty." A familiar voice said close to Atemu's ear, a hand clapping on his shoulder. He looked up to see Scott to his right. "I've already offered Atemu a ride." Kitty's expression fell.

"Aw, Scott! I wanted to show Atemu around. Besides, you and Jean have _graduated, _remember?Atemu, you can still, like, back out on Scott's lame-ousine and ride with me." A hand, presumably Kitty's, rose out of the table top as well, jingling a set of car keys between slim fingers.

"Really, Kitty, I've got it. The Professor asked me to show Atemu around. Seniority rules." Scott quipped. Kitty's expression fell again, and with a morose "Bye, Atemu!", her hand and head sank back into the table. Just to be sure, Atemu tapped the wood of the table where she had been. It certainly _seemed _solid.

"Kitty's got this thing where she can walk through solid objects. Walls, tables, human bodies. It's downright annoying sometimes." Scott said, sitting down with an omelet next to Atemu. Said Egyptian managed to shake off most of his shock to respond with his traditional smirk.

"Hmmm, like your _thing_ has to do with your shades?" Atemu frowned, not noticing the look of surprise on the older teen's features. "Did the Professor really ask you to show me around?" Scott sipped his orange juice before responding with a sheepish chuckle.

"Well, yes and no. The Professor asked all of us to make sure you feel welcome here, and I typically step up since I'm one of the older kids. But I have to warn you-" Scott paused, then jerked a thumb towards Logan, who was chewing a sausage as if it had done him a great personal wrong. "He looks pretty tough, doesn't he?"

"I would assume so, though I try not to judge by appearances." Atemu shrugged.

"Well you'd assume right. Let me put it this way, Logan couldn't handle driving passenger with Kitty. Neither could the Professor. Neither could any of the Professor's vehicles, for that matter." Scott laughed as Atemu's expression shifted from dubious to surprised to extremely grateful.

"You are a very gracious young man, Summers-san."

"Haha, I try. Just Scott, I'm not used to _san_." Scott patted the shorter teen on the shoulder. Atemu smiled genuinely.

"Forgive me, old habit."

"And why is that?" Jean had appeared at Scott's side, sitting next to her boyfriend. "I was under the impression you grew up in Cairo. I thought the name endings were more of an Eastern cultural trait."

"I did, but my father was a prominent businessman, and he traveled a lot while I was growing up. My mother passed away when I was young, so he often left me in the care of one of his closest colleagues, Sugoroku Mutou, who lives in Domino, Japan." Atemu's smile faltered a bit, but if the other two noticed, they didn't mention it.

"Sugoroku Mutou…why does that sound-" Recognition spread over Jean's face. "Oh, right! I was reading an article about archaeological finds in a recently discovered Ancient Egyptian tomb the other day. He wouldn't be the same Sugoroku Mutou who was part of the team to study the remains of the Nameless Wife, would he?"

"That would be him." Atemu let out a low chuckle. "Getting close to his seventy-sixth birthday, and he's still running off to tombs, ruins and mysterious catacombs. He couldn't just sit put at home, drink some tea and run his game shop. Live a quiet life."

"It sounds like you know him very well. You close?" Scott asked. Atemu ran a hand through his wild hair.

"At the risk of sounding like a cliché, he's been like a father to me. Grandfather, too. He taught me how to speak Japanese, English and maintain my Arabic. To this day, he keeps on inviting me out on his 'secret expeditions' whenever a new one comes up. After this one cave-in at Chichen Itza, I decided that _he_ might think he has nothing to lose, but that doesn't mean I don't." Atemu laughed, a rich, throaty sound that lightened his whole expression. Jean recognized the change, having seen it earlier that morning. How Atemu suddenly looked a lot younger when he laughed, too.

The kitchen door opened with another sharp bang, and in tumbled Alex Masters, disheveled and rubbing his face with a towel.

"Why didn't you wake me up, Atemu? Geez, if I'm late again-!" Alex cried. His backpack hung precariously from one shoulder, and his right hand was joined with the gloved, left hand of a brunet that Atemu soon recognized to be one of the girls hovering over him, while he lied on the bathroom floor in his heat-induced haze.

There was something off about her expression. Though her lips were close-lipped, her features hardened, her eyes were trailing her hand linked with Alex's, confusion in them. Atemu glanced at Scott, and found that he was watching the joined hands as well. His red shades glinted, and Atemu realized with amusement that it was a sign of apprehension.

"Morning, Alex. Laura." Scott said lowly. Alex nodded absentmindedly, still obliviously gripping the girl's hand. Laura, on the other hand, scowled at Scott before helping herself to a muffin, and the pull of leather could be heard as she tightened her grip. Jean giggled, leaning over the table to whisper,

"I was wondering when those two would go public. They've been dancing around each other for weeks." She smiled. Atemu motioned to Laura.

"Who's she?"

"Her name's Laura Howlett." Jean's gaze lowered. "She's been with us for a little under two months. She's Logan's daughter, you could say."

"What do you mean by that?" Atemu asked, brow furrowing. Jean opened her mouth, but then closed it, uncertainty clouding her face.

"I…I don't think it's my place to say. It's a bit of a touchy subject. If you want to know, I'd talk to Logan, or Laura herself." Jean glanced up at him. "You might find her to be a little…rough around the edges, at first. Please don't let it get to you. She's a good person at heart, but she's had some very hard times. Not used to being able to trust a lot of people at once." She smiled at the younger two, who were sitting close to one another at the kitchen counter, chatting quietly and rapidly. "I'm glad she's made a friend in Alex." Scott expressed with an articulate "hurrumph!" that he didn't feel the same way.

**To Be Continued…**

**Hope you liked it! More to come, soon. Never fear. Reviews are more than welcome.**


	8. Introductions

**Author's Note: Yum yum, more work. Hope you like it. Trying to move the plot along a bit. Beware of loopholes and cliffhangers and all that XD. Let me know what you think.**

**Second Note: I hope it isn't confusing anyone if I interchange the names and code names of the mutants. I referred to Erik as Magneto most of the last chapter because I'm sure his fellow Acolytes are not on a first name basis with him. Also, I feel as if their code names are part of their costumes. I'm going to try and keep it consistent. If the muties suit up, code names are in play. I hope that works for you all. Unless of course for mutants such as Sabretooth or Rogue, who are always called those names even if they have real ones.**

**Bite and Burn**

**By Thornwriste**

**Chapter Eight: Introductions **

"What's a mutant? What's an Acolyte?" Yugi asked, walking a little faster than normal to keep up with the older man. The two followed along a lit street late in the evening, moving towards a glowing neon sign that read Merry-Stay Hotel. Yugi kept turning the snow globe over and over in his hands.

"To be an Acolyte is an honor and a responsibility, Yugi. To look after the welfare of mutant kind against persecution and ensure not only our survival, but our place in the world. As I'm sure you are familiar with, Yugi." Erik looked back at the boy. "Humans are having a hard time knowing what to do with the 'mutant problem'. For that is what you are to them, Yugi. That is what we are to them, a problem." Yugi glanced back, brow creased.

"I'm a mutant? Is that why they avoid me?"

"You are an example of the next step in human evolution." Erik stopped to wait for Yugi's shorter legs to catch up. "Just as the rest of us Acolytes are."

"I'm different." Yugi realized, speaking out loud, his thoughts echoing the conversation the two had back at the Tunnel Sub. Erik's eyes narrowed.

"You are special. Gifted. And they fear you for it."

"Do all humans fear mutants? Like the people back at the subway?" Yugi was far from calling that place his home. Erik sighed through his nose.

"I will admit, I have seen a few who display tolerance. But there are always anomalies in every species. I am a learned man, Yugi. I have seen much of the world. I know for a fact that humankind will inevitably fear us, hate us, and seek our destruction." Erik smirked at the look of shock on Yugi's pale features. "Knowing this, I founded the Acolytes."

Yugi only nodded, and the two walked in silence until they passed through the threshold of the hotel lobby. Yugi was too lost in his thoughts to flinch from the sudden warmth of the heated room, or marvel at the soft feel of the carpet, even through his falling-apart shoes.

The door opened, and Yugi nearly jumped out of his skin at a few loud bangs and rather maniacal cackling. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight before a familiar numbing encased his entire body. He had let out a badly startled sigh that expanded in mid-air, stretching into a sort of gust, before he heard the muffled thump and crash of ice upon the carpet. A glittering crystal lay before him on the carpet, shards winking even in the dim light. White clouds of cold still wafted around what had only moments before been free-flowing water, twisting in the throes of gravity.

Erik was saying something to the other men in the room, but Yugi could only stare at the chunks of ice upon the carpet. He had never realized he could react so quickly. He heard his name, and he looked up to truly look at the three men in the room. He squeaked in fear; he couldn't help it. All three men were much older, more muscular, taller and much more impressive, crossing the line into intimidating. They simply _looked_ like Acolytes. Even the orange-head with the silly visor.

"Mastermind and Sabretooth." Erik barked as he walked through the door, guiding Yugi in front of him with a gloved hand on the boy's shoulder. "Have they returned?"

"Naw, Mags. They've been out with Mistic all night. Startin' to get suspiiicious…" The visor-wearing man snickered, though a projectile pail bulleting towards his fiery head halted his glee. It wedged itself into the wall behind with a thick crunch, nestled in the wallpaper and wood.

"Good, then they must be having success with Marik and Bakura." Erik waved his hand, and a metal fold-up chair vibrated in the corner before unfolding itself and coasting across the carpet until it sat near Yugi's side. With a glance up at the white-haired man, Yugi hesitated and then sat down gingerly, placing his backpack beside it.

"I am sure you gentlemen have been curious about our motives to staying in the city, close to humans. I assure you; I will inform you in good time. Once Mystique has finished her errand for me, you will all be enlightened. In the mean time, I would advise you to get to know our newest addition, Yugi Mutou, for he will be most important in the days to come." Erik said, resting his hands on the back of Yugi's chair. Yugi glanced up at Erik at the word "important", amazed.

"These men are Gambit, Pyro and Colossus. They will be your brothers, fellow mutants, Acolytes." Erik pointed to each man in turn. Learning their peculiar names did not ease Yugi's apprehension, except he noted the man standing furthest away from the door, Colossus. Despite his giant build, Yugi noticed the man's expression to be less fierce than Gambit's and less wild than Pyro's. Yugi would have to hear him say something to be sure, but he almost, _almost_, looked normal, even gentle.

"Hello." Yugi mumbled, raising a hand. No one responded. Gambit lifted a speculative eyebrow. Yugi flushed, and he was about to lower his hand when Gambit snatched it as it fell, gripping tightly. Yugi winced when he heard his pinky crack. Gambit smirked down at him.

"Welcome to the Acolytes, mon ami." It sounded more like a warning than a welcome. Yugi only nodded, pulling his hand away as fast as he could. "I suppose some introductions, are in order."

Gambit reached into his pocket, pulling out a deck of cards with a violet and gold weave design. He flipped one over, revealing the Ace of Spades. He held it out to Yugi, who grasped it gingerly between two fingers. Gambit still held on, and then a fiery border appeared so suddenly around the edges that Yugi yelped. Gambit released the card, and Yugi stared at it, clenching the sparkling paper between his fingers.

A sudden burst of heat from the card burned his fingers, and he noticed the diabolical glitter in Gambit's dark eyes just in time. With a gasp, Yugi threw the card at the pool table behind Gambit, which cut through the air magnificently, then both card and table exploded with a loud bang, bits of flaming wood flying everywhere.

"Oy, I was _winning_!" Pyro shrieked angrily, motioning at the charred remains of the table. Yugi was in too much shock to reply. That is, until the sparks hovering around the ashes ignited and burst into flickering flame. The blaze grew in size, crackling and hissing like a feral beast, until a small bonfire burned just behind Gambit's exposed back. Yugi began to tremble as the heat crawled over his hands and feet, stinging his face. He stumbled back a few steps, bumping into Erik. He noticed an annoyed frown on the older man's face, the orange glow casting shadows on his hard features.

"That's _enough_, John." A heavily accented voice said before a grunt followed the sentence, almost immediately by the other pool table in the room arcing through the air and landing on the blaze with a heavy _smash_, smothering it. When Yugi found he could breathe again, he noticed with awe the shiny metal coating that was covering the third man's body, fitting every curve of skin and muscle perfectly. With a self-satisfied "heh", Gambit recaptured Yugi's attention. He was cutting his deck of explosives, watching Yugi intently. The older man seemed quite calm, as if living bonfires and soaring heavy objects were commonplace. Yugi gulped at the thought that, with the Acolytes, they were.

"So now you know us. Why don't you tell us your name?" He said. Yugi gazed at him bemusedly, mouth open with no words prepared.

"Your _real_ name, Yugi." Erik said lowly. Yugi nearly turned around to frown at Erik, but understanding graced him like settling dust after a catastrophe. Gambit…Pyro…Sabretooth…

"What's yours?" He asked Erik. The man didn't answer at first, then he waved his hand. The crumpled pail, abandoned silverware at the bar and a lighter amidst the ashes of the pool table lifted into the air. Lazily, they circled above Yugi's head, a bizarre metal mobile. He followed them with his odd-colored eyes.

"Magneto." The older mutant said. Yugi was silent, but then a small smile lighted his face. They had their turn, now it was his to show off a little.

He let the numbness that was always lingering in his fingertips spread over his body and flow out of his pores, expanding and quivering until a faint whistling could be heard. The temperature dropped rapidly, frost formed over nearly every surface in the room, icicles manifesting in sharp fangs on every edge. Every other man's breath in the room came out as white clouds; Pyro's teeth were chattering.

The whistling grew to howling, and Yugi let it go this time. He didn't need to be afraid. He wasn't a freak anymore. He was a mutant. And now, he was an Acolyte. Yugi relaxed, and let the howling grow wilder, wind whipping hair, tossing clothes and knocking down chairs, carrying with it biting cold and bits of snow and hail formed from the moisture in the air. Then the ceiling fan gave an ominous groan, and Yugi inhaled once more to reel the numbing back into his form, which was unexpectedly effortless. When the temperatures finally rose again, Yugi looked down at his hands before staring up at Gambit, fully grinning now.

"Call me Frostbite."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Bayville High was a crowded place, but that didn't change that fact that nearly every other member of the student body avoided the Xavier students. Atemu felt very much like a follower of Moses as he walked behind Kurt and Rogue, watching the hallways full of students part before him like the Red Sea.

"Ugh, how am I supposed to, like, function properly if I have Advanced Placement Chemistry first thing in the morning? I'm always so totally fried by lunch." Kitty bemoaned, hugging her books to herself and stifling a yawn. Atemu smiled.

"You wouldn't happen to have Mr. Sterman for your teacher, would you?" He smiled. Kitty perked up at once.

"Woah, that's so awesome, we're in the same class! Are you good at it? I'm _so _failing." Even so, the smile on Kitty's face didn't fade. Atemu held up his paper schedule, which he had picked up at the office earlier.

"Chemistry has always been the most interesting science to me, out of the three." Atemu admitted, following Kitty through the parting crowd. "Are they always like this?" Kitty rolled her eyes.

"Usually. It's gotten a bit better, even after the whole thing in Egypt." Kitty trailed off, but Atemu didn't need to hear her explain. He had heard of the mutant Apocalypse from the media boom surrounding the subject months ago. It was in an article of said event where Atemu first heard of the Xavier Institute.

"Anyone else we know in AP Chem?" Atemu tried to lighten the mood, but Kitty frowned.

"Well, Rogue's in our class. Of course, she's, like, a chemistry genius or something. Mr. Sterman loves her." Kitty said bitterly, though the girlish frown on her features detracted from her anger. Atemu chuckled.

"How about this, then. If you still have trouble over the next week, why don't we do a study group?"

"_To_tally! I've been trying to set one up with Rogue for ages, but she says she won't cause she thinks I'll, like, copy her work or something." Kitty laughed as Atemu did.

"Well, I'll see if I can convince her otherwise." Atemu promised as they entered class together. Mr. Sterman, a middle-aged man who towered above Atemu at least two feet but eased him with a comical smile, bade Atemu to wait at the front of the class.

"Alright, kids. Sadly, we're not going to be able to blow up stuff today because Mrs. Weathers needs the equipment and the magnesium." Mr. Sterman said a few minutes later, earning a chorus of whines. "On the other hand, we have another surprise. We have a new transfer student. Why don't you introduce yourself?" He nodded at Atemu, who turned to face the inquiring faces with his trademark smirk.

"My name is Atemu Tor, I'm transferring from Cairo, Egypt. I'm a senior. It's a pleasure to meet you all." He said, preparing to walk down, only to be stopped as one student called out,

"You a mutie?" At this, Atemu paused, crimson eyes blinking once, twice, before his smirk spread to his eyes as well.

"Question is, does it really matter?" He responded before taking an empty seat, conveniently next to Rogue. She gave him a gloved thumbs-up as he sat. He winked at her.

As it turned out, Mr. Sterman was a rather dynamic teacher. To demonstrate the photoelectric effect, he chucked pieces of yellow chalk at a projector, for instance. It was a little strange, though. Despite what Kitty had said about Rogue being good at chemistry, whenever Mr. Sterman called on her, she typically blinked bemusedly and gave the wrong one. Mr. Sterman seemed confused, too, and Atemu couldn't help but notice him ask Rogue if she was feeling alright at the end of class.

"Ah'm just havin' one o' those days. Ah couldn't get mah head straight."

"Hmmm, well I hope you feel better, Rogue. I'm sure you'll be fine."

As luck would have it, his next two classes were with familiar faces. This was good because it seemed news traveled faster than an outbreak of the flu in Bayville High, and nearly everyone had already assumed that he, too, was a mutant. As it turned out, Rogue was with him again in Calculus, and Kurt was more than willing to offer a hand in basketball during Phys. Ed, not one of Atemu's favorites. It was when he walked into his Philosophy and Writing elective that he realized as he stood in front of the class to be introduced again that no other Xavier students were taking the subject. The teacher was a pretty and rather young woman with iconic lenses and frizzy red hair named Ms. Myers.

"Alright class, settle down. Before we continue yesterday's discussion, we have two new students to meet." Ms. Myers had a sweet, lilting voice, and only then did Atemu realize that there was another student leaning against the wall by the door with a disgruntled expression. "Why don't you two introduce yourselves?" Atemu waited, but the blonde at the door made no move to speak, so he faced the mass of students, once again.

"My name is Atemu Tor." He felt like a broken record. "I've transferred from Egypt. I hope to get to know all of you well." He bowed slightly, another old habit from his times in Japan. He glanced at the blonde, who had yet to move. Ms. Myers coughed, and then the other young man rolled his eyes and spoke to the class.

"Name's Katsuya Jounouchi. That's all yah need to know." He said gruffly, shaking his blonde locks out of his honey-colored eyes. Ms. Myers sent them to their seats, though the only empty seats were in the front of the class, one in front of the other. Atemu glanced at Katsuya, but the blonde only spared him a scowl before claiming the seat behind the first. Atemu sat in front of him, settling down as Ms. Myers posed a question to the class about Appearance vs. Reality.

"Oy, your hair's kinda blocking my view." Katsuya whispered five minutes into the discussion. Stopping amid writing notes, Atemu glanced back, eyebrow raised.

"Then I guess you'll have to sit on your books, then." Atemu frowned. "Besides, it's a discussion. You don't need to _see_ anything."

"Maybe I am enjoying a 'view'." Katsuya joked crudely, glancing at Ms. Myers, who was leaning forward a little precariously at her desk. Atemu adopted an expression of fake surprise.

"Oh, Katsuya Jounouchi. I had no idea you were gazing so intently at the chalkboard. You seem more like a whiteboard kind of guy. I'm sure it feels the same way." He said, loud enough for nearby students to hear. Katsuya growled.

"What are you playing at, _yarou_?" Atemu was a little surprised at the Japanese, but he countered it easily enough.

"Just saying, _baka_. If you wanted a view, you should've taken this seat before I did." Atemu said frostily before looking down again at his notes. A couple minutes, he felt something poke his back. "What do you want?" He growled.

"I didn't know you spoke Japanese." Katsuya said, almost apologetically. Atemu sniffed.

"Most people don't. I'm fluent. Lived in Domino for a while before I came here. You?" At first, Atemu wasn't sure if Katsuya would answer him, but then the blonde spoke up in a much friendlier manner.

"I was born in Tokyo, but I moved to Domino a few years later, too. Small world, huh?"

"Sure is. Your English is quite good, though. Hardly any accent." Atemu took a few more notes in between sentences. From the sound of it, Katsuya didn't even bother.

"A friend of mine back in Domino was fluent, so he taught me how to read and talk in English. Worked a lot on my accent, too." Katsuya chuckled softly. "Heh, who knows, maybe you've heard of Sugoroku Mutou."

Atemu nearly fell out of his seat. He whipped around fully, staring Katsuya full in the face. The blonde looked badly startled.

"You know _jii_-_chan_?" Atemu hissed. Katsuya's eyebrows rose to kiss his blonde fringe.

"Are you serious? He's your grandfather?" He spoke at normal volume now, though he quickly hushed from a Teacher Look courtesy of Ms. Myers. Atemu coughed embarrassedly.

"Well, no, not _really_. He's practically family, though." Atemu ran a hand through his wild hair. He stared intently at Katsuya, unable to form words to his thoughts. "You _know_ him?"

"Didn't I just say that? Mutou-san is pretty much the coolest old man I've ever known." Katsuya spoke with pure admiration, and Atemu opened his mouth to ask if Sugoroku had ever spoken about him. He decided against it at the last second, instead asking,

"How is he?"

"Last time I checked, he was jazzed about a find in some Pharaoh's squeeze's tomb."

"Mr. Tor, Mr. Katsuya, is there something you'd like to share with the class?" Ms. Myers said sharply, tapping her toe. Both teenagers shook their heads. She nodded and continued the discussion with the class, which had shifted to manifestation of identity. Ten minutes later, amidst note-taking Atemu felt a tap on his arm. He looked down to see Katsuya's right hand, palm open.

"My friends call me Jou." The blonde whispered. Atemu sat still for a moment, before reaching around with his left, grasping Jou's wrist firmly.

"It is nice to call you friend, Jou."

"Heh. You shake hands funny. I'm gonna hafta teach you the right way." Jou snickered, and Atemu found himself smiling rather broadly, both at the other's comment and the way American slang fit so easily into his speech it was almost New Yorkish.

**TBC…**

**Note: A little short, but it's progress. Things are finally starting to come together. Expect more in the future. Reviews are not only welcome, but wholeheartedly encouraged. **


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